


Will You Force Me To Stay, Or Will You Help Me Run Away?

by Velocity_Owl87



Series: The Omega's Tales [1]
Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Politics, Assault, Attempted Sexual Assault, Bonding, Canon Het Relationship, Canonical Character Death, Civil War, Developing Relationship, Dubious Ethics, Fights, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, Implied or Off-stage Rape/Non-con, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mildly Dubious Consent, Multi, Past Abuse, Past Relationship(s), Physical Disability, Possibly Unrequited Love, Pregnancy, Sibling Love, Slice of Life, Spies & Secret Agents, Unconventional Families, Violence, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-12
Updated: 2013-06-26
Packaged: 2017-12-11 15:47:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 33,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/800415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velocity_Owl87/pseuds/Velocity_Owl87
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aragorn Telcontar is the last of his kind, trying to fight the oppression of his fellow Omegas from an unjust and warmongering regime when he, alongside Eowyn Rohan get caught and sent to be breeding stock for the Alphas of the elite. </p><p>Boromir and Faramir Steward, toil in the war machine despite steadily growing reservations about their masters. Masters who want to still keep them on their side and will do so at any means necessary, including sending them the most coveted omegas of the Dunedain and Rohirrim clans. </p><p>But Aragorn and Eowyn won't submit and Boromir and Faramir won't be bought.</p><p>So now that they have come to an understanding, they must figure out where to go from there.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. And This Is How It Ends

**Author's Note:**

> I have always loved "The Handmaid's Tale", but haven't attempted to write something inspired by it. It made sense to write a dystopian LOTR/Human verse with Omega/Alpha dynamics that I have been reading about in many stories. I wanted to write in this universe and look at gender roles and the repercussions when placed in a world were wars skyrocketed and birth rates plummeted. LOTR, curiously enough, seems to have very few women, so that was why the idea of having the Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics came in.
> 
> The world here will be explained as it goes on, drawing parallels from LOTR (Such as Boromir and Faramir in the Army, Aragorn as part of a clan, same with Eowyn, etc) but not always match up. 
> 
> Sorry for the long notes. Story has been proofed and edited, but if there are mistakes, my apologies.

_“So this is how it ends”_

_“This isn’t what I expected, to be honest_.”  Aragorn Telcontar thought as he sat on the bus watching the barren landscape of the Midwest go by. He had an idea that they were taking him and others like him away from the Canadian border and further into the heartland of America.Probably even to one of the facilities that one of the Omegas he had helped last year spoke about in terrified whispers.  They couldn’t risk the defections any longer. Not when the population was dropping as sharply as it already was and cannon fodder becoming a luxury that hadn’t been the case twenty years ago when the futile war began.

“How close were you when they caught you?” A low voice, a woman’s voice broke through his musing and he turned his head to look.

She was sitting to his left, her blonde hair twisted in a knot at the back of her neck and wearing sturdy, although worn looking clothes that he was betting either belonged to a lover or a brother: Tan work jacket, flannel shirt, heavy dungarees and work boots. Nothing about her was feminine in the traditional Omega sense. She was dressed for survival and the gleam in her dark blue eyes said as much.

He reminded her of the Rohirrim clans that lived in the Border States like his clan had historically done. The Dunedain had been the first to bail, sending all their Omegas and Female betas off to the Commonwealth countries and finally leaving when the borders were declared closed Stateside. The Rohirrim had followed suit right after. Gondor…He wasn’t sure of. He had gone into hiding after that.  If she was a Rohirrim and an Omega, she must have had a very strong incentive to stay. Or worse, be defective and that was a fate he didn’t want to wish on anyone. He had heard the stories and had no desire to know if they were true or not, since that was a fate that he didn’t wish on anyone.

“Idaho. You?”

She winced in sympathy before replying.

“Montana. It was just bad luck all around and now we’re theirs. At least most of Rohan got out.”

Aragorn nodded at that. So his suspicions had been on the money after all and she was a Rohirrim.

 “How many did they catch of yours?”

“They only caught me and you? Are you alone?”

Aragorn nodded and sat back. “We don’t have many Omegas in my clan and we started to leave as soon as we got wind of what the government was thinking of doing.”

The woman pursed her lips as if she would ask him something else, but changed her mind and held out her hand instead.

“Eowyn Rohan.”

He didn’t hesitate to take it and give it a brisk shake. He knew that he would need an ally in the place where they were being taken. Not quite the same clan, but still close enough to trust each other and help each other out. If there was a way for them to get out, they could at least rely on each other to do so.

“Aragorn Telcontar.”

Eowyn’s eyes just a fraction, making him wonder if his old name was still worth the currency it once had. But she didn’t say anything else, just let go and sank back in her seat.

He took his cue and stared out the window again at the landscape that looked too uniform and bleak and got him further and further away from freedom and a different future altogether.

~*~*~*~*

Faramir knew that he had chosen a good time to interrupt Boromir when he saw the books and the poorly copied reports that Boromir was painstakingly poring over. It wasn’t work that he particularly enjoyed, but now that everything had been changed, he had taken it and had done the best he could.

“Can you spare some time?” Faramir asked as he pulled up a chair and sat across from the desk, giving Boromir time to slide off his reading glasses and stretch out the kinks in his shoulders.

“For you, little brother, always. Especially when I know that you have something important to share.” Boromir replied, sitting back in his chair and wincing slightly at the movement.

Faramir caught the wince and felt the twinge of guilt that he always felt when he saw it, but tamped it down. Even though Boromir had forgiven him, he still had a long way to go before he could forgive himself.  He knew it was pointless, especially since his father never would.

Faramir reached into his navy dress jacket and pulled out the two envelopes stamped with the seal of the Home Forces and Domesticity Office and handed one over to his brother, who took it suspiciously.  Boromir looked at the stamp on the pale blue envelope before his eyes darted up to look at his brother.

“I thought we were off the list for Omegas, after Alaska.”  Boromir whispered tightly. Faramir shook his head and tapped his own envelope on the hardwood desk.

“It was on the table, but after the inquiry, we got put back on the list and our name was cleared.”

 He paused his tapping and let the envelope fall on the already crowded surface of the desk.

“I’m sure that there would be an outcry otherwise, treating homegrown heroes badly after you gave up your career and all that to cover up the mistakes of incompetent leadership.”

Boromir winced and reached down to massage what was left of his leg. It wasn’t the worst wound he had gotten, but it was the most visible and the bitterest reminder of the botched Alaskan tour. Reduced lung capacity and a missing kidney had sidelined him indefinitely and had gotten him shunted into logistics and strategy. More paperwork and less action, but he was still in the forces and that was at least something more than sitting around at their home collecting a pension and waiting to die.

“It still is too big of a boon to throw our way, don’t you think?” Boromir asked, turning the envelope over and in his hands and looking at the seal and his name printed in stark capitals on the front. They had been cleared and the Stewart name was back in the good graces of the ruling council, but Boromir hadn’t ever expected to have gotten their name pulled up for the mating rolls despite the damage control that had taken place months after.

Faramir shrugged as he picked up the envelope he had let fall on the desk.

“Maybe it is. But then, father still is in the game. We’re still in strategy and re-structuring is coming up. Alaska may have been a shitshow, but with all of Rohan and the Dunedain making for Canada, they need all the help they can get to keep that from blowing up in their faces.”

Boromir frowned. “They managed to lose them to Canada? After that bloody report was given to them to keep the Rohirrim and the Dunedain clans happy?”

Faramir nodded his eyes as equally hard as his brother’s at that exact moment.

“They obviously never read it or ignored all the provisions that we put in there.  Obviously, despite the fact that we lived near them and traded them, our word as Gondorians meant shit.”

Boromir sighed heavily and rubbed his face roughly, his default gesture when he was struck by the sheer stupidity of a system he was desperately trying to make work despite all the signs pointing to its irreversible decay. 

“So these are the bribes?”

Faramir shrugged and slid his fingernail under the flap of his envelope, ripped it open and pulled out the single typed sheet it contained. Boromir watched him skim the contents, watching as his brother’s eyes widened and his face got pale before he folded the sheet closed again.

“What is it?”

Faramir shook his head and gestured to the unopened letter Boromir still held.

“Just open it and see.”

Boromir did as he was told, unfolded the sheet and skimmed it quickly.

It contained the usual fanfare of his name, date of birth, rank and affiliation to his mother and father’s family on the first few lines.  He skimmed them to make sure that they were correct before looking at the important lines. Lines that made him drop the letter from fingers suddenly grown cold.

“Are they fucking kidding? A Telcontar Omega?”

Faramir’s head shot up and he snatched the letter to read the contents for himself.

“Sweet bloody hell. They really are buttering us up. I got a Rohan Omega and you got a Dunedain…” Faramir returned the letter to his brother and shook his head.

“They want us badly Faramir and we’re caught between a rock and a hard place with this.” Boromir pointed out.  Faramir nodded, sitting back in his chair, the letter crumpled up in his hand as he thought about the possibilities of such a boon granted to them.

“The question is do we accept? Or do we keep playing their game?”

“For now, we should. If we were to turn this down, you know father would force us to accept them, since it would be a backhanded insult that they are giving us what could be the last Dunedain and Rohirrim Omegas still around and we’d refuse them.”

Boromir sighed heavily and stood up fluidly, the letter fluttering to his desk as he came to stand next to his brother’s chair.

“So we accept and then what?”

Faramir looked up and smiled the half-smile that Boromir knew all too well from the field.

“We just wait and see what we’re supposed to do. I’m sure we’ll find out soon enough.”

~*~*~*~

“Are the cuffs really necessary?” Beregorn asked Imharil as they pulled the two wide eyed human Omegas forward. Both the female and male were wearing the nondescript clothes that delineated their sex in washed out tones of blues and greens. Both had nowhere to hide any weapons and both had their hands cuffed in front of them. Behind the Rohirrim and the Dunedain stood other Omegas of other less wanted stock: Southerners, hobbits and the odd dwarf that had been found hiding in the Appalachians or the Rockies. All of them were cuffed and all had the same look of muted fear on their faces as they were marched forward and into the bus that would take them to their new homes and Alphas. All of them had that faint sweet scent that would ripen in several days and make them irresistible to any Beta or Alpha within the vicinity. That, out of anything else marked them as Omegas that were going to be shipped off to the elite and wealthy and made into broodmares for the good of the country.

“When you’re dealing with the Rohirrim and the Dunedain in an enclosed space, yes.”

Imharil replied as he led the Omegas in question to the armoured vehicle that was parked beside the bus. Beregorn shook his head, but kept quiet as he opened the car door to let the Omegas sit down in the back partition. The woman’s eyes flickered, but she said nothing. The male simply made himself comfortable, looking regal despite the cuffs around his wrists. The sight sparked a memory long forgotten in Beregorn, but before he could grasp it, Imhadril slammed the car shut.

“Let’s get this delivery started. Although the Stewards aren’t going to make a fuss, we do have a schedule to keep and I’d rather get rid of these two sooner, rather than later.”

“Why?”

Imharil snorted. “Rohirrim and Dunedain Omegas may be worth their weight in gold, but they’re hell to deal with. I don’t envy the Stewards at all. In fact, I feel sorry for those bastards. Even hobbits are a better choice than these two. At least with hobbits, you don’t have to make sure that the weapons are locked up and don’t end up between your ribs. “

Beregorn nodded and thought that despite it being a boon, the gift of the Omegas was indeed a Trojan horse for the Steward family.

He chewed on his lower lip and looked at the Omegas sitting in the back and made a mental note to keep an eye on them and the Steward family. Just in case what Imharil said was true.

Having decided this, he got into the car and buckled in while Imharil started the car and they drove off, leaving the rest of the Omegas to be herded on the bus and driven to their new destinations.

~*~*~*~

Eowyn watched the scenery change from industrial buildings to green spaces with woods and well-tended parks before it smoothed out into a gated community. She had seen them before, when she had been a little girl and the world hadn’t gone mad yet. She knew that only money and prestige lived in those kinds of communities, so she wasn’t surprised that they would be going to one of those sorts of places. She and Aragorn, because of their lines, hand been handpicked to go to the upper echelons of the army and ruling elite. Although it would mean an easier life, it was still going to be bondage.

She bit her lip and forced herself to not think about the uneasiness that crawled under her skin at the thought of being under an Alpha. She would submit for the time being, but she would find a way home to her people, her uncle and cousin and brother. She would also find a way to get Aragorn out, she promised herself as her eyes slid over to take in the Dunedain Omega beside her.

Aragorn looked quite calm. But she knew from all the months that they had spent in the holding facility being tested and then being held while suitable Alphas were found for them:  Aragorn was nervous as all out. The tight line of his shoulders and the way that his fingers moved across his thighs gave it away. Eowyn wished that she could make it easier for him, but knew full well that there was no way to do so. Aragorn had never lain with anyone and that was bad enough in itself.

But when it was doubled with being a male Omega it was positively nightmarish. Her cousin, despite being paired up with a gentle Alpha had been a bundle of nerves and anticipation before his first heat mating. It had been bad enough for him even though he had been surrounded by the clan. But Aragorn was alone and it would have been anyone’s guess what his Alpha would be like. Eowyn just hoped that the Alpha would have enough knowledge and compassion to be gentle.

Or she would destroy them, damn the consequences. She would do it, even if it cost her everything, she promised herself.

She reached out and nudged him with her elbow, giving him an encouraging smile that he returned a faint version of. Although a small gesture, she would take it.

Aragorn’s lips parted as if to speak, but whatever he was going to say was lost when the car stopped in front of a medium sized house in crisp shades of blue and grey.

One of the soldiers in the front of the car turned around and looked at Aragorn.

“Your stop, Dunedain. Imharil will take you to Steward.”

Aragorn’s face went pale, but he didn’t resist or speak as he was pulled out of the car and led to the front of the house. He cast one last look at Eowyn, who forced herself to sit and watch as the door opened to the house and Aragorn was shoved in by the soldier.

That was the last time she would see him for a very, very long time.

 

 

 


	2. The World is Full of Refugees, They're Just Like You and Just Like Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Factions are still fighting, Eowyn meets a somewhat familiar face and Eomer and Legolas watch and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The chapter kind of sprung out of nowhere and we meet more people and get an idea of what is happening alongside the Canadian Borders and the rest of the conflicts in the land. I'm from Alberta and have lived in the East and visited the West Coast, so that is where most of the descriptors for Canada come in. 
> 
> Also, all gun knowledge borrowed from my friend who is a markswoman, mistakes are mine.
> 
> Chapter header is from "The Everlasting" By the Manic Street Preachers. As always, this has been proofed, but if there are errors, my apologies.

It was a dark day and the clouds that always seemed to linger made it even darker. It was a depressing day, made so by the darkness of the forests that had grown crazy and wild after the last attack of the Forces. The Alliance didn’t mind. It meant more foxholes and boltholes and guerilla warfare. It wasn’t honourable, but it was helping them push back the forces and even carve out territory that had once been thought lost.

Elladan pushed up the bandana that was threatening to slip over his eyes and adjusted his position in the tree. He shouldered his rifle and squinted through the sights, careful to keep his quarry in view. He didn’t like skulking in the trees and hiding, but with his eyesight, he and his brother had taken up the positions. They both had lost track of their kills, but the numbers combined where a force to be reckoned with.

Still, he itched for hand to hand combat. But he wasn’t an Alpha like Elrohir and had been deemed too precious to be killed and capture as a sniper would be preferable. So he sniped under the watchful eye of Elrohir and tamped down his impatience at not being on the ground down until the next shift in the forest.

He bit his lip as he waited for the target to lead out the rest of the recon unit he knew was coming up right behind them. There had been too many in the past couple of months. Ever since Estel had disappeared and-Elladan’s thoughts stopped abruptly when he saw that it was not just a recon unit, but an actual platoon coming through the forest, a tank inching its way after the scout.

He swore and lowered his sniper rifle. Instead, he looked up at the opposite tree he could feel Elrohir nesting in and lifted four fingers. He waited and got the curlew cry back that meant he was to stay still and that it had been taken care of.

He clipped his belt to the branch he was sitting on and huddled deep into his camo coat. He didn’t care to see what was going to come next. He had seen it too many times already and it never got easier to take.

The mortar shells screamed through the still air and exploded the booming sounds nearly, but not quite drowning out the screams of the battalion and the wrench of steel as it tore apart under the artillery. Although he was thankful he had gone along with Arwen to deal with Luzhin, the scale of death he had been responsible for never got any easier to take.

He squeezed his eyes shut even tighter and waited until Elrohir gave the signal again, telling him that his sniping was needed. To his surprise, the hooting of an owl sounded out through the aftermath of battle noises and fire consuming the dry kindling in its path. He winced, knowing that Glorfindel would have to deal with that later. But for now, he licked his dry lips and returned the call.

He was to go home now, the aftermath of battle not his place.

Swearing softly, he unclipped himself from the branch and gathered up his rifle and other equipment. Once it was secured, he shimmied down the tree and turned left and made sure that his back was turned against the carnage. He had made that mistake once. He still had the nightmares from it and his grandfather had refused to let him out of Lothlorien until Arwen and grandmother had begged it, which had been one of the most embarrassing experiences of his life so far.  He had learned his lesson quite well from that time.

Pulling the kerchief around his neck up around his nose, he took off into a dead run, knowing full well that his brother would be directly after him.

Sure enough, he felt a hand clap him on the shoulder and he yelped, nearly losing his balance on the slippery leaves kept on the path for the purpose of concealing it from outsiders.

“Whoah, little brother! It’s just me!” Elrohir exclaimed as Elladan fought to keep his balance and not make a complete twat of himself in front of his brother. He scowled at Elrohir, noting the smudges of soot on his forehead and cheeks but said nothing. He didn’t want to know and he just wanted to go home and not think about the skirmish or what Arwen would tell them afterwards.

“Hey…you okay? I know it was worse than the last couple of times out there and we are twins, Dan. So are you okay?”

Elrohir noticed his preoccupation. How could he not, Elladan thought wryly. After all, they had been born one directly after the other and had spent most of that time together. Well, at least until they had presented and he had moved in with their Omega grandfather.

Elladan took his time in answering. He didn’t want to outright lie, but he also knew that there was nothing either of them could do about the situation either. It had been a battle and a half to even have him sniping. His father had wanted him and Grandfather to join their mother in New Zealand, across the water.  His mother had been working on her end to push the paperwork through and he guessed he would have gone if Aragorn hadn’t been taken by the Forces.  He and grandfather, despite their gender, had been needed and everyone was damned well aware that once Aragorn was found, he and Grandfather would be on the first plane out.

“It’s…it’s the usual, El. Just the usual and I really don’t want to talk about it. Let’s just go to grandpa’s house, alright?”

 Elrohir nodded and fell silent after which both siblings broke into a light sprint, heading for their grandfather’s house, the only safe place in Lothlorien for the last remaining Omegas. Alphas weren’t exactly banned, but Elladan was always respectful of the rules his grandfather laid down.

“Grandfather Celeborn, are you home? I’ve got Elrohir with me, if that’s okay? Grandad?”

Elladan called out as he put his equipment down in the wardrobe left for that purpose and locked it up tight.  He unlaced his boots and bade his brother to stay in the hall lest their grandfather react badly to the presence of him before moving into the kitchen, where he found his grandfather making coffee in his beloved old and horribly noisy percolator.

“Grandad?”

Celeborn looked up from his task and startled when he saw his grandson.

“Oh! Elladan! I’m sorry I didn’t hear you. Did you just get back?”

“Yeah…Elrohir’s with me. Is that alright? Or should I-“

Celeborn shook his head, making his silvery hair swish softly around his head as he did so, showing his mutilated ears. Elrohir winced inwardly at the sight of the worst of the cruelties that had been visited on his gentle grandfather.

“Amroth’s visiting your father and he’s in good hands and it’s been too long since we have sat and talked. I’ll make more crepes.”

Elladan nodded and poked his head out of the room.

“You got lucky this morning, is all I’m saying. Get your shoes and gear off. Breakfast’s coming.”

Elrohir laughed and did as he was told, coming in just in time to have Celeborn hand him a plate and smile at him.

“Good to see you again, grandson.”

Elrohir inclined his head politely before putting his dish onto the table and pull his smaller grandfather into an embrace.

“Same here, Grandad.”

~*~*~*~

Faramir nearly jumped out of his desk chair when the Beta housekeeper that had been with the family ever since the death of his and Boromir’s mother came into the room to announce the arrival of the Omega. He had been so caught up in the paperwork that had just landed on his desk that he had quite forgotten the arrival of the Omega that had been scheduled for that exact day. He rubbed his eyes tiredly and went downstairs to properly receive the Omega.

He did pause at the top of the stairs to make sure that his hair was at least pushed back behind his ears and that he didn’t look too rumpled. It was true that on paper, the Omega was his and it wouldn’t matter what he looked like. That didn’t sit well with him and he at least made the effort, since he was well aware that if he was in the opposite position, he would want that acknowledgement at least.

Once he was satisfied with his reflection, he descended to his small living room and was surprised at who he encountered standing there, beside Beregorn. She must have realized who he was as well, but the only indication that she knew was a slight widening of her dark blue eyes and nothing more. She lowered her head so that her hair was covering her face and only rubbed at her wrists were the handcuffs had been. She didn’t acknowledge their conversation and the housekeeper, being fully aware of the proper procedure, led her away quite rapidly upstairs.

His face, despite all the training and experience showed something and Beregorn had picked it up. He wasn’t an Alpha, but he had enough perception and battle readiness to know when to take action. He didn’t speak until they heard the door shut and the housekeeper descend and exit the house, her duties done for the day.

“She was there, wasn’t she?”

Faramir nodded, not bothering to hide any longer. Both of them knew what place he meant. It had been that time when everything had fallen apart for his and Boromir’s careers in the Army.

“It was a good thing that the suggestion was made then, to have her be assigned to you.”

Faramir’s eyes widened in complete surprise at that calmly delivered statement. He had been sure that it had been arranged all too neatly for them to have gotten a Rohan and a Dunedain as mates. Now he had the proof.

“You know our hands are tied and we can’t give you much and if I go into the field…”

Beregorn shook his head. “We aren’t bribing you hand over fist, Faramir. We know the price was too damned high after Alaska. We wish that you didn’t have to take the fall, as it was for us. But at least we can trust that you won’t break either of them or abuse them as others would be wont to do in this situation, that’s all. I can also offer my assurances that you won’t be shoved into combat, since they cannot trust you to not thwart their plans wittingly or not.”

Faramir’s mouth pressed itself into a thin line at that. They hadn’t been there, when he had to tie a zip line around Boromir’s leg to stop him from bleeding out. Nor had they been there when he had laid in a cot next to his brother’s bed, listening to the hiss and tick of a ventilator, deathly afraid it would stop and his brother would choke to death in his sleep. They also didn’t know how he woke up with the guilt of knowing that Boromir could have-He shut his thoughts off with a click. Boromir had forgiven him. But he still had a long way to go before he forgave himself.

It had only been a happy coincidence that things had settled the way they had after the campaign. They still kept their prestige, but kept in close enough quarters for their unit to comfort themselves that the Steward family was still firmly entrenched in the old way of thinking. Or at least it looked to be, what with their father in the ruling echelons and him and Boromir dutifully filing report after report that would never get read.

“I still don’t want to be involved and I’m sure that Boromir won’t be if you ask him either. We’re done and he’s the only real family I have left. I won’t risk him again.” Faramir hissed out. Beregorn remained as calm as ever, nodding as he took his leave.

“You won’t be dragged into anything not of your choice. We just need for them to be kept safe until we can get them out of here. “

“You know we’d follow, after the bond solidifies.” Faramir pointed out quietly.

Beregorn only looked at him with that calm, unperturbed look of his before he spoke.

“No, you won’t.  Boromir’s well-being is the only impetus you have for doing anything because your guilt cripples you as much as his missing leg does him.  Boromir won’t do anything because he fears risking your well-being. If you both bond and actually go through with following your mate, I’d be surprised. “

Beregorn didn’t stay long after that. He was on duty still and needed to meet up with the rest of his regiment right after dropping the Omega off. But he stayed long enough for Faramir to compose himself before he went upstairs to deal with the Omega. Once Beregorn was gone, Faramir went up the stairs and to the room he had arranged to house her.

He was still stung by Beregorn’s words, despite the truth in them. They were the only family they each had and he was positive that if either had been an Omega, they would have mated.  It wasn’t unheard of, but not a common thing to happen to siblings that were dominant to their parents. He wasn’t sure if his mother had been an Omega to his father’s Beta, but he had to wonder if that was the reason why she…Faramir bit his lip hard to stop thinking along those lines as he went into the room that was still open and found the Omega sitting on the bed, her eyes fixed on the scene outside. A scene that was marred by the heavy duty bars over the window that kept her in. A necessary measure, at least one deemed so by the government, but not by him. Omegas had tried to flee and that was an unacceptable offense, so Alphas had to have a barred room once they were assigned an Omega.

Faramir studied her for several minutes before he lightly knocked on the doorframe, catching her attention. She turned quickly, her hair swirling with her movements and her mouth curved up into a cynical smirk at the sight of him standing in the doorway with his rumpled dress uniform and opaque expression.

“If this isn’t irony, I don’t know what is.” Eowyn commented as she watched Faramir enter the room and lean against the desk.

“Indeed.” Faramir agreed, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

“Who sold you out?”

~*~*~*~*~

Eomer stood at the watchtower, his rifle at the ready as he kept his eyes focused on the border as was his duty. He hadn’t thought much about taking the job when it was offered to him as an exchange for giving up his citizenship and promising to keep the massive barbed wire structure safe from the zealots in a country that had once been Canada’s neighbour. Now, he hoped that in by taking up his post, alongside the Dunedain and the Quenyan and Lorien elves that remained, he would be able to find his sister. Just like the Dunedain hoped in vain for the return of their Chieftain. Only the elves did it as a sense of duty. After all, Canada had been the first to open their borders and let them in with no questions asked. Australia and New Zealand had quickly followed and by the time the rest of the first world had followed suit, it was too late and the country they had fled had imploded.

“It’s a quiet night, Eomer. You should rest.”

Eomer turned around and gave the elf that was his partner on these night shifts a half-hearted smile.

“I’ve slept before, Legolas.”  Eomer tried to brush him off, but Legolas wouldn’t be dissuaded.

“As have I and I can tell you that neither your sister, nor Estel are on their way. At least not this night.”  Legolas told him, making Eomer forget his protests when Legolas’ words.

“Are you fucking with me? Or have you actually seen something in those stars that you always seem to have your eyes on?” Eomer asked tersely.

“She’ll find her way back, Eomer. That I can see quite clearly. But it won’t be for a while yet and I am afraid that I will have to ask you to have patience and faith it will happen. She’s not meant to be away from her people for long. Not like others that have been lost to us.”

Eomer winced at the sad bitterness that had seeped into Legolas’ tone. He knew, from either hearsay or outright being told that Legolas’ mother had been one of the first Omegas taken. His father, having been cannier than the Lorien and Rivendell elves, had taken his barely grown son and his people and asked asylum of the Canadian government once this had happened. He had acted accordingly and had paid his dues, but he had kept his son and his people safe and that had been all that mattered to him. Even though it had meant the loss of a kingdom, his son and his Omegas were safe.

If he had ever attempted to get his spouse back, it wasn’t known. If Thranduil’s spouse was alive, no one would or could say. Not even the king himself, who lived in the Pacific Northwest and kept his own council, sending only his son and his guards out into the world to pay the debt of gratitude to the government by being its guards.

Eomer nodded, exhaling loudly and slid the safety on his rifle before putting it on the rack. Legolas was right. It wouldn’t hurt for him to sleep a bit in such a dead night. No sense in running himself ragged if there was no need to do so.

“Don’t let me oversleep, allright?”

Legolas nodded and Eomer made his way to the backroom and stretched himself out on the cot that they kept there for that specific purpose and in moments, he was dead to the world and dreaming about a time when it had been much easier and the world hadn’t gone insane.


	3. And I Got Sick, With No One To Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aragorn finally meets his assigned Alpha and it's not everything either of them ever expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we get to the complicated middle of the story, more or less. I have tackled the ABO trope a bit differently, so I will explain here:
> 
> The divisions are as follows:
> 
> 1\. Alphas-Both males and females can sire. Females are the only ones to carry and have both sets of equipment in this and retain the outside "female" characteristics of their "paper gender" so to speak.  
> 2\. Betas-Males are less fertile sires and can be overpowered by an Alpha. Females are the average fertility rate and are the carriers.  
> 3.Omegas-Ultra fertile. Males have a hidden passage that opens only during their heats. Heats last for four days and are seasonal, but can be triggered by an ideal mate.They have breasts during pregnancy and nursing, which go away once the child (pup) is weaned. Women have regular cycles and are technically fertile all year round. Both tend to bond exclusively with the first Alpha that properly dominates them and that is shown by their personal scents blending together. Both genders are carriers only.
> 
> They can bond multiple times, but without the show of dominance, they are not as fertile and may even miscarry. Even if an Alpha chooses them, they can reject the Alpha until the Alpha can prove dominant and a provider. Males will go into the heat frenzy when this occurs and will breed successfully. Gestation for Omega Males is six months. Females have the same nine month cycle. Omega males are the rarest and most coveted for mates.
> 
> All genders emit scents that blend on the Omega as a show of successful mating and bonding. The offspring carry the blended scents of their parents.
> 
> Sorry for the long notes. Proofread as always, apologies for mistakes. Chapter header from Matthew Barber's "And You Give"

Aragorn kept his expression blank as he was led into the foyer of the house by Imharil, the soldier that had been assigned to be his guard and liaison within the facility and the outside world. Imharil didn’t unlock the cuffs around his wrists and instead fixed him with a steady look before he moved to the hallway, with Aragorn dutifully following behind.

 He was nervous, the energy thrumming under his skin as he took note of the tasteful, yet Spartan decorations of the house, which was done in warm shades and natural materials that reminded him of his own ranch in Idaho and briefly made his chest constrict when he remembered that it was out of his reach and added to the assets of the Alpha he would be mated to in three days’ time, when his heat would come in completely.

They moved into the living room and Imharil pushed him to sit on the nearest chair, which happened to be a comfortable, if somewhat threadbare wingback. The sight of that made him relax only slightly. His attention was taken by Imhadril speaking with a housekeeper, a Beta. The Beta only glanced in his direction before she disappeared faster than he would have guessed her being capable of moving. But then, Aragorn thought, he was probably putting off the preheat scent in waves strong enough to even arouse a Beta.

The impending heat made his skin itch and feel like it didn’t fit properly on his body. He hadn’t had a heat since he was fourteen and his Alpha mother had put him on suppressants. He had been surprised that despite being on suppressants for so long, he was still fertile, as had been confirmed by the doctors in the facility after the many invasive examinations and tests. He had been flushed red in embarrassment so many times after them, but he also knew that it was good. He had been around long enough to know what happened to infertile Omegas and he was pragmatic enough to realize that he should be grateful to his biology for sparing him that fate.

He forced himself to not think about it and study the art that hung in the living room. It wasn’t terribly sentimental, but it was well done and it wasn’t abstract. It mostly depicted the Rockies and scenes from the Pacific Northwest and Aragorn found himself smiling faintly. He had a cabin there, he remembered. But the smile automatically slid off his face when he recalled that under the laws, he technically didn’t.

 Just like his beloved Idaho ranch, it would never be his anymore. Not unless the laws changed and that wasn’t looking likely. They had waited five years already and if anything, the laws restricting the Omegas were getting more and more draconian. He wished, just for a split second, that he had gone when his clan had turned tail and fled to Canada. No one would have blamed him, but he couldn’t betray his principles that way. Nor could he have ignored the fact that he was in a perfect position to get other Omegas out, since he flew under the radar in most gender classifications, making him the perfect transport for other Omegas that the network had sent his way.

He bit his lip and looked down at his feet, clad in the flat cloth shoes that they had given him after they had taken his boots and the rest of his clothing. They forced him into soft, blue and green shirts and trousers and he felt as if he was a patient, stripped of everything that made him Aragorn Telcontar. He knew that was their aim and he fought to not mentally give into that. He wouldn’t let them break him and he wouldn’t let this Alpha try it either.

An Alpha he knew nothing about, other than a name and a rank. Not even a picture had been provided when he had been pulled into the director’s office and told he was going to be the Omega for Boromir Steward, a Gondorian officer that had retired from active duty. With so little information to go on, Aragorn had tried to imagine what this Steward Alpha would be like.

He could guess that as a Gondorian, Steward would probably resemble a Numenorian and that made him feel a slight edge of relief. He wasn’t shallow in the least, but Aragorn knew from the brief times he had felt attraction to someone that it would be easier to like someone that was physically attractive at least. If he was going to be a broodmare, he would at least have that small consolation.

But personality was a big blank and Aragorn hoped against hope that Steward wouldn’t be the typical, zealot Alpha of the Regime. That wouldn’t make their mating and breeding slightly tolerable at all. Especially not if he was forced to whelp pups to feed the bigotry that he had spent years fighting against.

“Stand up.” Imhadril hissed at him, cutting into his musings. Blinking, Aragorn did as he was told and Imhadril swiftly unlocked the cuffs and moved beside him. Aragorn wondered as to why Imharil felt the need to tell him to stand up before uncuffing him, but he understood when the housekeeper and the Alpha of the house entered the room. 

An Alpha that automatically made Aragorn desperately want-no, need- to bare his throat to and kneel at his feet.

Boromir Steward was the same height as him and built along very lean lines. Despite the slightly limping gait and laboured breathing, he looked to be still at the peak level of his fitness. Boromir Steward’s face was composed of the usual rugged, harsh lines of an Alpha, but there was something calm and kind in his narrow green eyes. His hair was wrong though. It was sandy blond and too long for a military man, slightly curled past his collar and neatly tucked back behind his ears.

He wasn’t overbearing, nor did he feel the need to exert that he was an Alpha. He moved with the innate knowledge that he was the most powerful human in the space and didn’t need to make a big deal of it. He was, Aragorn guessed, an Alpha used to being in command and wielding his authority easily.  He was also an Alpha that dripped sensuality and was quite unaware of the effects it had on anyone else.

Or at least that was what Aragorn figured was the reason why his senses were completely attuned to the Alpha in a way that he had never been focused on anyone else before in his life. Maybe it was the lack of suppressants, or the nearness of his heat. But he couldn’t stop his fixation on the Alpha. Aragorn was sure that if he was removed from this house, he would find his way back again.

When the thought crossed his mind, Aragorn blinked. He now understood why the doctors in the facility had been extra careful with weaning him off of his suppressants and refused to let him be near Eowyn so close to his heat. A thirty minute car ride, with neutral scents wouldn’t have made him feel so strongly attached to the person sitting near him.

Not like stepping into an Alpha’s home had. He cringed inwardly when it finally clicked what was going on.  He was imprinting and there was no way that he could even think of stopping it.

He gasped, quietly he thought, but it still brought the attention of Steward to him. Those piercing green eyes felt as if they were looking straight into him, unravelling all of his secrets with just a look. So entranced was Aragorn by this scrutiny that he didn’t even notice when Imharil and the Beta housekeeper had departed. Only the quiet ‘click’ of the lock being turned made him realize that Steward was now in his personal space and that they were alone. He wanted to remain stoic, but it wasn’t possible. Not with Steward standing close to him.

The only small saving grace was that despite the pheromones both were putting out in waves, Steward wasn’t touching him.  He was standing close, but wasn’t making an effort to do anything else but look at him and study him.

The trance between them was broken when he looked down and saw that Aragorn’s hands were raw and reddened from the cuffs biting into his skin.  Boromir took Aragorn’s hands and lifted them up to examine them, making a small and needy whine escape from Aragorn’s throat. Boromir’s eyes moved up to meet Aragorn’s. Boromir must have seen what Aragorn desired, there was no way to make it clearer.  But still, the Alpha refused to take him.

Although Aragorn was relieved that he wasn’t being pushed down and forcibly mated, his body was desperately craving the touch of the Alpha. Already, he could feel his trousers getting soaked as the fluid slipped out of the hidden opening in his perineum and he could feel himself flushing once he realized how strong his scent was. He closed his eyes in mortification. He didn’t want to feel this. He didn’t want to be a slave to his body and he didn’t want to be claimed and impregnated.

Despite Steward being more than he had expected and much less hoped for, Aragorn did not want to be a broodmare for the rest of his life and had fought that fate with all his strength and with the resources of his clan. The Dunedain only cared for ability and that had been his saving grace. No Alphas had been forced upon him and he could have picked any that he had wanted if that had been in his plans.

But no matter how many Alphas he had met, none moved him as strongly as Boromir Steward. He had inklings of it happening when he had met Arwen. He supposed that he could have eventually submitted to her. But her dominance had never been so strong. Even when he had been fifteen, she hadn’t made him want to get down on his knees.

The minute that he had worked all of this through, he bit the inside of his cheek in chagrin.

He wanted to blame it all on biological imperatives, but the moment he brought it up, he knew that it was a flimsy excuse. He could have been mated long before if that had just been that. Biology only went so far. There had to be something more for his reaction.

Arwen’s eyes flashed through his mind, as if to convince Aragorn of the connection he had with the Elven Alpha and force him to withstand his biology.

The moment that Boromir had gotten into his personal space and touched him, Aragorn realized that he had already completely lost.

~*~*~*~

Boromir thanked his military upbringing for keeping his Alpha side at bay. Telcontar smelled fantastically ripe and ready and his movements were the ones of an Omega ready to be pushed down and taken. It had been too damned long since he had been in close proximity with an Omega and it was only just that discipline that was keeping him from rutting against the Numenorian in front of him. 

Whatever he was, Boromir wasn’t a rapist. He didn’t believe that biology should be used as an excuse for taking someone who hadn’t given verbal and explicit permission that they wanted to be taken. And even though Telcontar’s body was giving all the signs, the Omega still hadn’t voiced his consent.  Not to mention that there was a clear flash of unease in Telcontar’s eyes and the muscles in his cheek jumped whenever Boromir touched him. No matter how gentle and how slow he was making his actions, Telcontar was far from accommodating, even when he was just checking the marks on the Omega’s wrists.

He pressed lightly on the marks and Telcontar whimpered at the touch, making Boromir wonder if it was from pain or arousal.

“Are your wrists paining you? I could get some-“

“No. It’s not my wrists. It’s my heat. It’s come on.” Telcontar got out, his voice no higher than a whisper.

Boromir turned his head and dropped Telcontar’s hands, moving away from him. Telconar made a noise that fell between a whimper and a sigh and Boromir felt his face heat up in response to it.

“My apologies for causing you distress, Telcontar. I didn’t realize that you were this close to your heat. I will show your room. It can be locked from the inside. If you could follow me, I will take you there now.”

Telcontar’s eyes widened and he was as struck dumb as he watched Boromir slowly make his way to the door and unlock it in preparation to take him to his room. Boromir had just stepped into the hallway when Telcontar grabbed his arm in an almost bruising and punishing grip.

“I can’t go. Not alone.” Telcontar whispered harshly, his eyes bright with open desire and need, a desperate need that had him rubbing himself against Boromir, who went completely still at the sudden turn of events.

“I won’t mate someone that hasn’t given complete consent, no matter what the government says. You’re not my property and despite all that I am, rapist isn’t one of those things.”

Boromir replied as he grabbed Telcontar and dragged him to his room. If he had two working legs, he wouldn’t have hesitated to bodily haul him to the room and throw him in. But his leg was gone, so he dragged him and shoved him into the room, slamming the door shut before locking it. He leaned against it to catch his breath and tried to not think about the scratching and pitiful moans coming through the door, despite his Alpha nature wanting to do nothing more than rip the door from its hinges and bury himself in Telcontar’s body.

“Boromir! Please! Please! I need you! Open the door! Please! Breed me! Boromir!”

Boromir moved away from the door and covered his ears, trying to muffle the pitiful pleas from the Omega he had just met. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves before he walked past the hall table, where the thick, cream coloured envelope that had arrived that morning rested.  He would have ignored it, but when he saw the stamp of the Home Office, he knew he couldn’t put it off.

Blocking the cries, he picked up and ripped it open to reveal the terms and conditions in regards to one Aragorn Estel Elessar Telcontar (Omega) that was now mated to Boromir Ecthelion Steward (Alpha).  His eyes widened at the name and his temper started to rise at the sight of it. He was furious, but he needed to find the information that he had come for. The issues of Telcontar being his Omega would have to wait to be dealt with. He skimmed the dense table of contents in regards to heats and matings and his hands went cold when he read the terms and conditions.

“Those fucking _bastards_!” He hissed, throwing the papers onto the floor. He ran his hands through his hair to calm himself down. How the fuck could they justify this? How could they?

Boromir limped to the room, unlocking the door with shaking hands and ended up with an armful of Telcontar latching onto him with an open-mouthed kiss that drove other thoughts apart from mating out of his mind.

Growling, he pushed Telcontar into the room until his knees hit the bed. They both fell onto the bed, Telcontar ripping his mouth away from Boromir’s as all the air was knocked out of his lungs with both the impact of the landing and having Boromir fall on top of him. Boromir growled then, his mouth already latching onto Telcontar’s neck and biting hard enough to make the Omega under him yelp and writhe as the hormones were released into his bloodstream, making the citrusy powdered scent of a fertile omega fill the entire room.

“Breed me! God! Breed me! I need you!” Tel-Aragorn, Boromir corrected himself. He couldn’t continue calling him that when they were lying in bed, groin to groin and just on the verge of mating and breeding.  Aragorn was babbling and Boromir pulled away long enough to see that Aragorn was flushed and his eyes were full blown and black. His dark brown hair was sweaty and tangled around his face and he just looked debauched and ready to be taken. He was ready to be bred.

And Boromir had never seen anything hotter in his life.

He moved them up the bed and straddled Aragorn underneath him, thankful that the heat was distracting the Omega from his stunted and stiff movements. Although his prosthetic leg usually didn’t give him too many problems, he hadn’t been with anyone since he had gotten it and the movements were still a bit beyond him. But he managed it well enough and the sight of the Omega writhing underneath him, dampening the crotch of his uniform with his juices was more than enough to get him going.

Growling, he grew his claws and sliced through their clothes tearing the shredded clothing off of them and throwing it in the furthest corner of the room. They would deal with it later. Right now, his only concern was to breed the frenzied omega underneath him. With his claws retracted, Boromir slid a hand between their naked bodies, parting Aragorn’s legs while his fingers looking for the opening to prepare Aragorn.

Already, he could feel Aragorn’s dick straining and hard against him and leaking, his ballsack tight and drawn up in preparation. Boromir reached past that to the opening behind them and let out a muffled gasp at the wetness he felt there. The documents stated that he was an Omega virgin and the last thing he wanted to do was to have the mating and the imprinting be one full of horror and pain.

Boromir was careful to press his mouth to Aragorn’s neck and suck, making the Omega loose and pliant as the endorphins and hormones overwhelmed his body. Once  Boromir felt Aragorn was relaxed enough, he slid a finger in slowly, pausing whenever Aragorn stiffened slightly. It was so wet and slippery that he was able to slip it in and out a few times and circle it, making Aragorn jerk and mewl at the sensations. Encouraged, he added another finger, scissoring to loosen Aragorn up more.

Boromir slipped his fingers into the knuckle, curling and slipping them in and out until Aragorn was splayed open underneath him and sobbing his need incoherently, his voice rising in pitch as he was pushed beyond his limits. But still, Boromir increased his pace, despite his own cock being rock solid and weeping against Aragorn’s leg. He wanted to desperately rut against Aragorn to come, but he wasn’t that selfish. He’d have plenty of time to take his own pleasure in the week to come, he was sure of it.

Aragorn though, couldn’t take it anymore and when Boromir’s fingers brushed against a roughened spot inside, his hips jerked and he spilled all over, his shouts piercing and loud as he spilled himself.  He clenched around Boromir’s fingers, sucking him in greedily. Aragorn was ready.

~*~*~*~*

Aragorn’s mind was buzzing as he watched Boromir position himself, his face a mask of concentration as his cock touched him. Aragorn shivered and wished that Boromir wouldn’t be so careful. He had been ready ages ago. He needed Boromir to mate him and get it over and done with. He couldn’t wait any longer, his earlier reservations be damned.

 _“You will be permanently bonded to him, his scent overlaid with yours. Do you really want that?”_ He had asked himself again when Boromir had locked him in the room and the answer had been a resounding yes. He wanted to see those green eyes filled with desire. He wanted to have Boromir above him, pounding into him, knotting him until he didn’t know his name anymore. Aragorn desperately wanted him that was all.  That had been the last coherent thought he had had before the heat madness had overwhelmed him and he had scratched and pounded at the door and _begged_ to be taken.

A plea that had been heeded and would now be completely fulfilled once Boromir entered him and divested him of his virginity.

“Ready?” Boromir asked him.

“Please! For the love of the Valar! Please!”

He would have added more, but Boromir thrust inside him in one smooth stroke, bottoming out in him and leaving him lying flush to Aragorn’s chest.  It hurt, the stretch, but Boromir was solicitous, kissing his temple, his cheek, his lips to distract him until Aragorn was used to being filled.

Once he was sure, Boromir began to thrust. It wasn’t quite smooth and stuttered at times, but it was a rhythm that worked to have Aragorn wrapping his arms and legs against Boromir as they moved in a tandem while they were both slick with sweat as they moved against each other. Each thrust was going in deeper, making Aragorn’s head slide on the covers and a stream of Sindarian fall from his lips while his vision kept being streaked with blue and white.

He heard Boromir shout in the haze of colours and sensations that overwhelmed him from the inside out. His sight whited out and his throat felt raw as he hoarsely shouted this way through another orgasm. He was on the verge of coming down when there was one last feeling of pressure and tearing and Boromir was releasing into him, filling him up and knotting them together.

He jerked and cried out at the pain, at the way that he was stuck to Boromir and began to breathe in rapid, panicked bursts. But Boromir was there, smoothing down his hair, kissing his tears away and whispering words of encouragement to him. He moved slightly to give Aragorn some room to calm down.

“It’s okay. Shh…it’s okay. It’s done. You’re okay. You’re okay…”

Aragorn gulped in a few breaths, closing his eyes and forcing himself to focus on Boromir’s words and touches. He anchored himself to the Alpha, listening to the words and losing himself in the low, soothing burr of Boromir’s words until his chest stopped feeling so tight and his breathing evened out. The tightness in his chest was replaced by a warm fuzziness he hadn’t felt since he had been a pup and his father had held him before they had gone to sleep. It was the same warm comfort now that made his eyes droop shut and drift off into a dreamless sleep.

~*~*~*~

Boromir ran his hands through Aragorn’s hair, an old way to show comfort left over from when Faramir was a child as his Omega slept. His Omega. It was a heady thing, to have an Omega to call his own. Already, he could smell the subtle mingling of their scents: citrus, wood smoke, the ocean, and balsam. He buried his nose in Aragorn’s neck and tasted it. It was coming. He knew that he tasted something other than Aragorn and he was over the moon with the knowledge.

The Alpha in him was victorious, of having found not just an Omega, but his mate. He licked the raised wound he had made on Aragorn’s neck and made a purring sound. It was something that embarrassed him when he had been younger, but he didn’t care. He was pleased with what had transpired and besides, Aragorn was asleep. 

Now he just needed to find a way to untangle Aragorn from both the red tape of the Government and the clutches of the Alliance and he and Faramir could really start putting their plans into place in earnest.


	4. Can I Trust You? Can You Trust Me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arwen starts to plan, Imharil and Beregorn talk, Faramir and Eowyn find they are at cross purposes and Celeborn's past is pulled into the present. And everything has been set up for the game to begin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not really many notes to put here, other than descriptions for whom I pictured as I was writing this:
> 
> Beregorn-Aidan Turner, to be honest. He's young and earnest and apart for his curls, pretty nondescript.He's just trying to survive and make sense of all the weird shit going on.
> 
> Imharil- Tim Balme. A bit weather-beaten and just trying to do the best thing. 
> 
> Amroth-Dean O'Gorman for this one. He's young and ages really slowly and he's as unelvish as could be.
> 
> Elladan/Elrohir-Richard Armitage. He has the right colouring and they are older than their uncle due to circumstances that have passed and I picture them as one being his quiet, intense half (Elladan) and the action focused and ruthless (Elrohir) half of himself.
> 
> Sorry for the long notes. Again, has been proof-read, any mistakes are mine.

Imharil walked into the mess hall of the barracks and immediately made a beeline to the coffee machine. Although the coffee was shit, it was better than trying to stay awake for the paperwork that he was obliged to do once he had finished his round of escorting Omegas to their mates. He was glad that it wasn’t a task that was often needed to be done, since not only he had had to inure himself to it, he also had a shitload of paperwork to file right after that would take him out of commission for at least a week or so.

He sighed in grateful relief when he saw that the carafe was full and that the coffee had just been brewed. At least that had gone right. He fixed up his coffee with generous helpings of milk and brown sugar before gravitating to his favourite scarred table in the middle of the hall. The only table with a clear enough view of the ocean that he missed so much from his childhood, before everything had become so bleak and bitterly mundane.

He had just gotten a couple of scalding mouthfuls down when a pile of stuffed manila folders landed at his elbow. He kept his face blank as he looked up, but smiled briefly when he saw who it was.

“Pulling an all-nighter too?”

He smiled up at Beregorn, who put down his own cup and pulled out a packet of biscuits that Imharil particularly liked as a peace offering of sorts. Even though in reality Imhadril didn’t mind sharing his personal space, it had been through mutual understanding that when Beregorn shared his table, biscuits were always to be found.

“Of course you are. We just transported all those Omegas. The paperwork and the follow-up is obviously going to need to be done.”

Beregorn answered his question and pushed the package across the table to Imhadril.

“I brought some chocolate. Hope the sugar helps in keeping the sleep away.”

Imharil’s eyes narrowed at that, but all he did was grab the package and tear into it, sliding the slip of paper between two of the biscuits. He crammed one into his mouth whole and used the distraction to slide the paper into his wide leather watchband. Once he finished the biscuit, he took a long sip from his cup and pushed the package back.

“Chocolate is always good for that. Do you think there’s enough coffee here to last the night though?”  Imharil asked as he polished off the other biscuit. He wasn’t kidding when he said he needed the sugar and besides, chocolate biscuits were getting hard to find.

Beregorn looked over at the canteen and shook his head; making the queue he had his hair move over his shoulder.

“I have coffee in my car. Two tins of the Canadian stuff that my daughter sent me.” Imharil pointed out casually, making Beregorn’s face lit up in anticipation.

“Want to get a tin of it now?”

Beregorn nodded and Imharil was reminded of Beregorn’s actual age, something that wasn’t often seen due to the starkness of their drab uniforms and the effort to keep a stoic appearance at all times.

Imhadril dug into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his keys.

“It’s in the usual place. I’ll wait and start work, allright?”

Beregorn nodded, took one last gulp of his coffee and ran off.

~*~*~*~*

“We found a lead.”  It was the first thing that came out of Arwen’s mouth the moment she stepped into Elrohir’s room that evening.

Elrohir blinked at the flat statement as he looked up from the gun that he was oiling in preparation for the next shift. Although another raid wasn’t going to happen for a while, he liked to keep his weapons ready. He made a small noise of acknowledgement before he wiped the excess oil away and put the gun and all his supplies away with methodical precision. Once he had finished, he sat back on his bed and looked at his sister.

She bit her lip and sat down on his desk chair, her battle scarred hands fiddling with a dirty brown sheet of paper that looked like it had gone through all sorts of weather to get to her.

“They caught him in Idaho, when he was getting the last of the Mirkwood clan out and moved him to Gondor held lands.”

Arwen stopped and her head dipped as she looked at the paper again. She took a deep shuddering breath and tears slipped down her face to land on the paper, making her brother worried. Not once since their war had started, did his sister show weakness.  Elladan had been more overwhelmed when their mother had left. But Arwen had been stoic about the situation. But then, she had had Estel beside her and once he was gone, the cracks had started to show.

She had kept it together until now and Elrohir instantly got on alert. Something serious had happened to make her cry. Either Estel had been incarcerated with no hope of getting out or he was dead. There was no other reason for the reaction.

Elrohir’s eyes widened at that and he took the paper from his sister’s unresisting hands and skimmed it. He swore quietly when he read the message written in poorly constructed Quenyan:

_“He’s been mated. The Elder Steward has him.”_

Elrohir let the paper slip to the bed as he got up and went to offer his sister the comfort that she would take from him.  He wrapped his arms around her and was surprised that she clutched at him and wrapped her fingers into his jacket and held on for all she was worth.

“They just _gave_ Estel to the Stewards.” Arwen whispered, her words muffled in his chest. “Like he was nothing more than cattle to be sold and they will force him to be nothing more than breeder to that decrepit old man.”

Her grip tightened and Elrohir winced as he tried to not picture Estel, the quiet, unassuming Chieftain who had been raised alongside them thrown on a bed and forced to receive the attentions of the Steward of Gondor. He forced himself to not think about it. Not when he could easily picture Elladan in the same position with another one of the Forces ruling elite, not consenting and not being able to refuse due to his nature.

He didn’t want to think about Estel being doomed to remain away from his people, his friends and his land with an unwanted child at his breast, another clinging to his robes while he carried another. To imagine his friend brought so low was more than he could stomach. To have the fear of it happening to his family again was what made him start putting a rudimentary plan together. Grandfather had suffered and he wasn’t about to let it happen to him or Elladan again. Despite Amroth being an amazing person all around as well being determined to protect them all, Elrohir promised himself Aragorn wasn’t going to suffer the same fate.

“We’ll get him back _, Tel nin._ ” He told her, sliding down so that he was on the same eye level as his fierce sister. He cradled her pale face between his hands and forced her to look at him.

“We have the means, Arwen. He’s not going to be a brood mare for the Steward for the rest of his life. We’re going to get him back.”

Arwen sniffed and chewed on her lip, turning it an even darker red than before.

“What if it takes years? What if he’s like grandpa and comes back with a pup?”

Elrohir shook his head at that. He knew that would rankle, to have to raise another Alphas pup. He knew that was part of the unspoken reason why Grandpa Celeborn had lived on his own, with Amroth and later on with Elladan. He knew that his grandparents still loved each other, but he also knew that his grandmother simply couldn’t accept her Omega back.  To her, his carrying Amroth had been the last straw. She didn’t care about the mutilation he had been subject to. But the pup had sundered their mating and he hoped, despite getting warning signals to the contrary that it wouldn’t happen to Arwen and Estel.

“If he truly is your Omega, it shouldn’t matter, I would think. It wouldn’t be Estel’s fault, any more than it was Amroth’s.”

Arwen lowered her eyes and nodded, making Elrohir wonder if his words had gotten through to her and that she would snap back to her usual brisk, efficient self and start planning how to get their Chieftain back. He had a few leads he could pursue ever since Alaska and he was sure that they would be useful. He was already drafting plans when she spoke.

“I know that, El. I just…I just can’t help but to think about Amroth and our grandparents. I mean, could you do it? Live with another Alpha’s pup and treat it like your own?”

Elrohir blew out a big breath and tried to not be disappointed in his sister. He understood. He really did. He had seen how much it had hurt his Grandfather when he watched his Alpha sweep past him and ignore the pup he held in his arms. He remembered how Amorth’s dark blue eyes widened and how he clung to his father tightly. Elrohir was sure that his grandfather would have died of heartbreak if it hadn’t been for Amroth tethering him to the world of the living with his storm blue eyes and golden red hair and ready smile and embraces for Celeborn. Then Elladan came along and his grandfather slowly got better until he was the grandfather that Elrohir remembered.

He had told himself whenever he had visited them that he wouldn’t ever be the cause of such heartbreak. Elrohir knew that it was a possibility that it would happen, if he ever bonded with an Omega and didn’t get them across the border or across the water. He wasn’t sure if he could be strong enough to not turn his back on his Omega, but he knew that he would be damned if he wouldn’t give it an honest try.

“I’m not a saint. Or a Valar, Arwen, but I was there when Grandmother turned her back on Grandfather and Amroth. I saw how much it hurt him, to be ignored and turned away as if he was worthless and how much Amorth meant to him and Elladan and how they helped him heal. I saw all of that and I wouldn’t ever be able to justify causing that much pain to someone. Take my answer for what it’s worth, but that is what I will tell you.”

He dropped his hands from his face and went to his desk to pull out the battered telegraph pad and pen he used when he needed to work out ideas.

“So now that you have gotten my answer, we need to start planning. What do you have?”

Arwen stood up and snapped back into her usual mode, taking the out that her brother had offered her and moved to the desk. Pulling out several bloodstained packets of code, she threw them on the desk as offerings to him.

“Here. We got these from the raid. I’m sure we can piece something together and that should give us a lead as to where the facilities are and where they could have taken him.”

Elrohir nodded, reaching out for the packets and unfolding them, not wincing even at the tackiness of the blood that kept them sealed in their square shapes.

“I’ll get Elladan and Haldir on this. Once we have something, I think Amroth can step in.”

Arwen’s eyes flickered at the mention of their uncle, but she said nothing. Amroth, an Alpha looking like a pure Rohirrim was worth his weight in gold. Even she, despite her dislike for his sire couldn’t deny that.

She nodded and turned to pull a map from the corner where he had thrown it the last time he had used it.

“Once that’s done, we can start planning the attacks from southern Washington and Montana.”

Elrohir nodded and started to write it all down in Quenyan, adding his own ideas as his pen flew across the page. It was time to work.

~*~*~*~

Eowyn’s eyes widened at the sudden question and she tried to not show how surprised she was at being asked that. She had known that their rebellions didn’t exist in a vacuum, but she hadn’t realized exactly who it was that had been helping to make the supplies and information appear to the fighting clans still. To have one of the names put to the faces was surprising enough. To see that it was the Alpha she was to breed with was even more of a blow that she could stoically handle.

She didn’t want to give him any information of who had betrayed her and she wouldn’t have either if she hadn’t known that the indignation in his voice was not just an act. The men of Gondor could be as still as statues to others, but when it came to the Rohirrim, they were as easy to read as if they had glass faces. He meant her no harm. Maybe he would even want to help, since he wasn’t like the other Alphas in the battalions from what she could recall of those bloodstained and nightmarish days.

“Grima sold us out.” She told him, her voice straining from her efforts to keep it from wavering. She never forgot how her skin crawled at his touch and how he gloated when the Forces pulled her out of the truck. She had itched for a knife then, but had never gotten the chance to do much more to him than to rake her claws down his face and blinding him with his own blood.

“What did they offer him?” Faramir asked, careful to keep distance in between them as they spoke and tried to figure out where to go from there.

Eowyn smiled a crooked, bitter smile and arched her eyebrow. Faramir’s face reddened in response. He should have known that a Beta on the lower rungs of the Rohirrim clan would ask for one of the ruling Omegas. Grima had been a fairly spineless lickspittle when the troops had interacted. Only the most tempting of the prizes dangled in front of his nose would have spurred him to take action.

“I read reports they found him and a few others lying in a ditch with their throats slit. Was that you and the rest of the Rohirrim or Dunedain?”

She laughed a low, silver edged laugh that as beautiful as it was, could cut sharply.

“I can’t take credit for that. But I can’t say I’m sorry he’s dead. I’m a broodmare now. My bondage lasts for the rest of my days. His suffering was done in less than ten minutes.”

Faramir winced, but didn’t turn his head at the words. They were true, after all. He knew that the Forces would expect her to be breeding within four months, since she was a female Omega whose cycles could easily be disrupted. At least they got more of a grace period than the male Omegas, who had to be showing breeding signs within two months. If an Alpha couldn’t do the job, they would find another Alpha until the Omega is bred and if the Omega hadn’t produced pups within a year…

“I won’t force you to breed, if that is not what you want.” He blurted out.

Eowyn’s mouth fell open at that abrupt outburst, but she knew that he couldn’t promise her that. Not when he wore the grey-green uniform of the Forces and lived under their aegis. But it showed her his character and what kind of Alpha he was.  That was worth something more than platitudes and lies.

“But you can’t and although I appreciate you gesture, we both know what will happen otherwise.” She tilted her head to look at him and smiled the first real smile that she had given since she had been caught and shoved into that facility.

“Well…We have a month leeway and I’d rather have my Omega willing, rather than being raped, government sanctioned or not.” He stopped and looked at her approving expression.

“Despite everything, Gondor wasn’t built, nor is it held on the belief that an Alpha can take everything that they want just because of rank. I’d rather do right by you.”

She watched his face when he said this and only just missed the shadow that passed at his words. She was touched. Despite the stiffness that he said those words, she knew he meant it.  She knew that she could have ended up with much worse.

“But if I asked for you to let me go across the Border, would you?”

Faramir’s eyes narrowed as he cut the distance between them, taking her by surprise at how quickly he moved despite his size. Her nostrils flared and despite herself, she could feel a small curl of desire uncoil deep in her belly. He looked her over and smiled. The expression didn’t match him. It wasn’t sweet nor was it self-effacing and careful. It was the smile of a predatory Alpha and it was in that short span of time that she could understand the respect the Rohirrim held for him and his clan.

“What makes you think we’re not already working on that?”

Eowyn inhaled sharply at the words, making Faramir laugh softly.

“Gondor remembers old debts. Just because we serve, does not mean we forget.”

~*~*~*~

“Your move, Uncle Amroth.”

Elladan told his uncle as they studied the board, their eyes fixed on the battle taking place on the wooden board that Celeborn had fashioned for them in the long ago days of their youth and before they presented. Despite being an Alpha, Amroth was the only one truly welcomed in Celeborn’s home, no matter what time of the year it was. He was unusually placid for an Alpha and Elladan wondered if it was due to his half-Rohirrim nature.

Grandfather hadn’t said as much, but he had been caught in the Rohan lands and there had been a few unscrupulous Alphas that would have taken advantage of an Elven Omega and forced a bond. Elladan and his siblings had guessed that had been the case when Amroth had opened dark blue eyes and his hair had started to come in a burnished golden red, was broader in the shoulders than Grandad. Not to mention  when he stood next to Estel, they looked like distant cousins.

“Huh. Okay. Checkmate.” Amroth replied, reaching over and knocking Elladan’s king over.

Elladan shook his head and laughed quietly. “Best out of four?”

Amroth wrinkled his nose and shook his head as he reached over and started to take the pieces off the board. He glanced up at his nephew and laughed at his put upon expression. Elladan shrugged and opted instead to help put the game pieces away.

“When are you leaving? Grandfather said you were going back out again and he wasn’t too pleased by it.”

“Hmm? Oh yeah. Two weeks, maybe three. I already talked to dad about it. It’s not dangerous. Just recon, they won’t suspect a Rohirrim Alpha, so I’m the best choice to go and no, I can’t tell either of you any more than that. Arwen would kill me.”

Amroth replied glibly, pushing his reddish-gold hair out of his face and winking at his nephew.

“Come on, I think dad’s got dinner and coffee ready and I don’t want to miss it.”


	5. Don't Let Them Win

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil is forced into an alliance with old enemies in order to deal a mortal blow to the Forces that destroyed his kingdom. Meanwhile, the network of the Alliance is working overtime to ensure that a decisive showdown comes sooner, rather than later and is helped along by old friends and surprising ones as well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The plot is moving along nicely and yes, new players are being added now that the set up has been finalized. I apologize for some names being shortened or vague and I promise it will all come together in the end in some kind of coherent sense. 
> 
> As always, it has been edited, but if mistakes persist, I apologize. Chapter title owes a debt to Crowded House. Nothing more for notes here.

Thranduil paced the room in long, impatient strides while Elrond watched him disinterestedly and sipped at his tea, savouring the strong and rich taste of Ceylon. He only got to have these small luxuries when he left Rivendell to visit the exiled King of Mirkwood and his son. The Canadian government turned a blind eye to the visits and discreetly tolerated them, since they had much to gain once the Forces were defeated.

“It isn’t a hard choice to make, Thranduil. The dwarves have access to information we don’t and aren’t asking for much.” Elrond pointed out reasonably. Thranduil stopped his pacing to stand in front of Elrond to glare at him, his emotions barely in check as he looked at his fellow Elven lord.

“They’ve been hunted more than the rest of us, Elrond. Their mountains have been nearly flattened to their foundations, their Omegas snatched from them. Their strength was so depleted that they couldn’t help us when Mirkwood was destroyed. What can they offer us?”

Elrond anticipated that question and drew out a ratty old road map that had seen better days and unfolded it on Thranduil’s table.

“Resistance in the south east, weakening their holds on the ports for one thing and since their army is made up of mainly Alphas and Betas that will be accomplished. The men of the Dale have shut the south to the Forces and the Dwarves are the last Eastern port for them to be able to obtain supplies from the few nations still friendly to them.”

Thranduil’s eyes narrowed at that and he bent over the map that Elrond was showing him.

Sure enough, he could see that the Alliance was trying to starve them out, since Mirkwood was no longer fertile, the Rohirrim lands and Dunedain lands were long in chaos and the Hobbits had shut their doors to the Forces, their resistance aided by their ability to live underground and away from human detection and leaving what had been a breadbasket unkempt and gone to waste. Gondor had steadfastly remained neutral, yet had managed to keep the window to the west closed.

“What about Gondor?”

Elrond looked up from the map and smiled thinly.

“Gondor is Gondor. We’re not sure with them. Only Ered Luin and the Lonely Mountain we know for sure what they are planning and what they want. But they need our network.”

Thranduil’s mouth tightened before he spoke.

“Why?”

“Oakenshield and his youngest nephew are missing and his sister and the remaining nephew are desperate for them to be found before their next heat. They’ll do this and even throw in the Arkenstone as payment. All you have to do is agree and let some of your court do some running for the network.”

Thranduil chewed on the inside of his mouth for a long while before he finally gave a short, jerky nod before slumping down onto his chair.

“I’ll let Father know of the plans. He’s in Gondor at the moment.”

“Thank you.”

Thranduil only growled his reply and poured himself a cup of tea, the conversation clearly done.

~*~*~*~

Eomer had just stumbled into the duplex and had sleepily abused the toaster and the kettle for a snack before he passed out dead to world when the bell chimed. He swore quietly at the sound and was sorely tempted to ignore it and keep haphazardly making his toast and tea, but he also knew that if he did there were two outcomes: The ringer would keep on ringing and wake Legolas up and he’d never hear the end of it, or he would miss information about his sister or Estel and Legolas again would never let him live it down.

“Well fuck.” He muttered, putting his Tetley mug that he had gotten from the last Charity Shop outing Legolas had forced him on down next to the still kettle and dragged himself to the door.

“Oh. Hey Glorfindel. Wanna come in before you scare the neighbours?”

“Hahaha. Fuck you, Rohan. Shave that damned beard and tie your hair back and maybe we wouldn’t even have the problem, you poor man’s biker. Where’s Legolas?”

“Probably sleeping on the table, he’s been busy ever since we got some stuff from his dad and Elrond. By the way things are going at the border-” He broke off to yawn widely and Glorfindel winced when he saw Eomer’s nearly grey face and bloodshot eyes. He hadn’t seen the man looking so drained since the first few weeks of the Rohirrim exile.

He sighed and clapped his hand on Eomer’s shoulder, pushing him towards the bedrooms in the back.

“Rohan, go get some sleep. I’ll make sure Legolas fills you in. But now, go to your room before you keel over.”

Eomer nodded and shuffled off, stumbling only once into the doorframe before making it into his room and falling onto his bed, passing out the moment his body hit the mattress. Glorfindel followed him to make sure he had made it onto the bed all right and took off his boots. Although they didn’t always see eye to eye on many things, Glordfindel had a soft spot for the stubborn Rohirrim who was still fighting to find his sister despite the odds.

“Sweet dreams, Rohan. Hope they’re better than what you face every day.”

He knew that pain, of being torn from his lands and his kin and knew how much it hurt to know that they were just out of reach. He had dealt with his pain long before, but it still stung from time to time and seeing Eomer’s exhaustion brought the pain and the memories back and made him less acerbic with the man. But he would deny anything if Eomer ever so much as let it be known later on.

He placed the boots neatly beside the bed before going out to his car and bringing back the peace offerings (or bribes, as Legolas tended to call them, despite consuming them with gusto) that would smooth over any disagreements that were bound to crop up when he was done talking with Legolas.

Once his goodies had been procured, he walked into the dining room area and sure enough, found Legolas face first into an atlas that Glorfindel would lay money on being used simply to plot routes to where he suspected Estel was being held.  He glanced at the places that Legolas had marked with black markers before he reached out and poked him.

“Hey,Sindarin! Wake up!” Legolas blinked up at Glorfindel once he realized that he had fallen asleep on top of his dining room table. Again. He scowled when the realization hit him and sat up, wiping sleep away from his eyes as Glorfindel put a takeaway cup of Timmy’s in front of him.

“Have I told you lately what a godsend you are?” Legolas asked, taking the top off the cup and inhaling the freshly brewed coffee and taking a small sip, savouring the taste of cream, sugar and caffeine. Glorfindel made a face at that before he sat down across Legolas and nursed his own cup.

“Not lately, no. But that’s because we’ve been working opposite shifts and I just got back from down south.” Glorfindel pointed out, calmly sipping his coffee while Legolas sat up, the sleepiness completely gone in anticipation of news.

“Any news of Estel? Or the Rohirrim?” Legolas asked once he had swallowed down more coffee.

“They’ve been mated already, but at least they got mated to Gondorians.” Glorfindel replied, pulling out a small, weatherstained notebook and sliding it across to Legolas to look at.

“The Stewards? I thought that they were in disgrace with the Forces after the Alaska Battle.” Legolas exclaimed as he read the cramped Quenyan writing in the notebook.

Glorfindel snorted and raised his cup of coffee to his lips as he jabbed at the map that had been obscured by Legola’s head during his nap.

“The Forces don’t _quite_ hold Gondor. They have a loose alliance with the old Steward, but no troops come in and no Omegas are pressed into being broodmares. The area is fairly neutral and the Steward has been committed to keeping like that. Until recently, that wasn’t a problem.”

“What changed?”

Glorfindel smiled, his dark blue eyes narrowing, making him look catty and sly as all out.

“My kin don’t give up so easily and the Rohirrim and the Dunedain leaving dealt them a huge blow to their supposed cohesion. The dwarves aren’t happy that their Omegas are being taken in Ered Luin and the Lonely Mountain. Mirkwood is done.” Here he paused and looked apologetically at Legolas, who waved his concerns away. They both knew that was the case and that Mirkwood’s time had passed ever since the armies had forced the elves of Mirkwood into exile.  Relieved that he hadn’t caused offence, he continued. “Rivendell and Lorien are still fighting.”

Legolas felt his mouth curl into a sneer. “So they’re hoping to buy Gondor’s armies by giving the son and the father the most coveted human Omegas? Are they that stupid? Gondor won’t stoop to bribery. Gondor is too proud and too honourable to do so.”

“They’re desperate. They need troops and lands now that Mirkwood’s become a tangle of forests ever since your people left it. The land remembers and it doesn’t forgive.”

Legolas snorted. “Yeah, well, Grandad and dad did warn them to let us be in peace. They didn’t listen; it’s only fair that they pay the price.”

Glorfindel shivered, surprised by the vehemence of the words coming from the usually calm Legolas. Glorfindel could have kicked himself for bringing up Oropher and Mirkwood, but he had no choice in the matter and Legolas deserved to know how the politics were playing out in case he was needed in extraction.

“The point is that Gondor has been bribed and the Steward hasn’t moved yet. Hasn’t made any pledges, nothing. He’s stalling them really well by keeping out of the spotlight and keeping quiet. The Forces are accepting it since they have no choice. But when they lose patience…”

“So do we have any plans on how to get him out?”

Glorfindel grimaced. “We’re close, but don’t have anything due to one of our agents going underground. Once we get a contact, we’re going to move.” He looked down at the map and pointed at Alaska on the map that was now labelled in both the Roman and Cyrillic alphabet.

“We don’t need another Alaska in the name of the Alliance. We might as well hand ourselves over on a platter if that is the case. Neither side can afford more deaths.”

Legolas nodded and drank more of his coffee, his hand trembling as he put his cup down.

Glorfindel waited, but Legolas said nothing more and pushed the notebook back.

“Is he at least well? The Rohirrim too?”

“Yeah. They are. Both of them are.”

Glorfindel replied. There was nothing his voice or face revealing anything was amiss, but Legolas’ eyes narrowed at the seemingly innocent words.

Glorfindel tensed and waited for the attack that was bound to come. Thranduil, Oropher, Elrond and even Beregorn had warned him about giving too much information away to Legolas. Thranduil had his reasons for keeping his son in the dark and Glorfindel respected the Elf lord to risk his wrath even though he damned well knew that Legolas would be a great addition to the ranks instead of just sitting as border patrol and waiting for things to happen.

The attack never came. Instead, Legolas drained his cup, walked into the kitchen area and turned to Glorfindel once he was in front of the fridge.

“French Toast okay with you?”

~*~*~*~

“Where is your brother tonight?”

Faramir shrugged as he slid into the booth across from the dark haired man that was nursing a cup of Earl Grey and milk. A tired looking waitress approached the table at the same time that he did and Faramir was glad for the interlude.

“I’ll have a large English breakfast with cream and some Red River cereal with brown sugar.”

He smiled at the waitress and she coloured slightly as she wrote down his order and quickly disappeared, making the other man snort and take a sip of his tea.

Faramir shrugged and sat back, feeling oddly under-dressed despite wearing a long sleeved shirt and good quality trousers. He crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow.

“You know why he’s not here, so we’re not going to talk about it, Fern. Besides, you’re not the only player in this game and he’s also got our number.”

Fern smoothed his dark brown hair back, careful to keep his ears covered and smirked at Faramir’s answer.

“We need more. Maps of the Appalachians, statistics, tact-your tea is here.”

Faramir looked up and the waitress smiled and put the tea, cream and sugar down, leaving them without a second glance. Fern frowned and Faramir shook his head.

“Not today. Next week. As for what you need, it shall be delivered the usual way. My brother doesn’t need to be a player in this one. Not when he’s got other duties to take care of.”

Fern’s eyebrows shot up at that and he had to smile. It was thin lipped and edged, but it was a smile nonetheless.

“And you, when will you be off your duties?” He asked, the acidity gone at the question.

“Not for a while yet, I’m afraid to say. I got a female, remember?”

Fern nodded. “That could take some time. But if it doesn’t take?”

Faramir bit his lips hard before he replied.

“I’m not going to let it get to that. Or better yet, this will be all done by then.”

Fern shrugged. “It should be, since we’re getting a bit more help from the South.”

“We’re getting some from the North, from what I understand.”

Fern nodded. “Then it should be done.”

“Then you don’t have to worry about me being off-task.”

They fell silent when the waitress returned with Faramir’s cereal, which he dug into with great gusto, making Fern’s mouth twitch.

“Sorry. I didn’t eat earlier. Was there anything else you wanted?”

“Actually, there is. Do you have any access to dye in this shade?”

Faramir smiled. “Actually, yes I do. How many boxes do you need?”

~*~*~*~*

“Hey, Steward, you got an extra one?”

Boromir’s head whipped around, the unlit cigarette nearly falling out of his mouth at his surprise at who had asked him the question.

“Imharil, of course. I didn’t know you smoked though.” Boromir replied as he opened the pack and pulled out another one of the smuggled cigarettes he had access to. He gave it to Imharil, who then pulled out a book of matches, struck one to flame and lit it and Boromir’s cigarette. He took a deep drag before he sat down beside Boromir on the garden.

It was still early enough in the evening to not look suspicious to anyone in the neighbourhood to see the two men sitting in the garden that was well tended. It was also chilly enough in the day to discourage any eavesdropping and Imharil was relieved that it was so. But he still made sure to signal Boromir to turn on the cheap radio that they kept for that exact purpose.

Boromir got the hint and turned it on to hear some old song that had been popular before the Forces had taken control and disallowed anything to be played that was less than forty years old. One of those songs that Boromir remembered from his childhood came on. It wasn’t one of his favourites, but it was loud enough to muffle conversation, yet soft enough to let them speak without too much effort.

“How is he?”

Boromir exhaled before he replied.

“Great. I’ve put in the petition to have him be formally acknowledged.”

Imharil’s eyes widened at that. “Already? Most Alphas don’t do that until there’s at least a litter of three! Why are you hurrying and does your father know?”

“Aragorn isn’t my father’s mate and even if he didn’t agree, there’s not much that he can do to stop it. Halbarad’s already filed it. We’re just waiting for the paperwork to come into my office and besides, he’s already breeding. Could scent it on him and I’m not about to let my mate and my children not have rights.”

He turned to look at Imharil. “I’m not complacent enough to think that I’m home free because I’ve got half a leg missing and push paper all day.”

Imharil winced, but he couldn’t refute the words, since they were true. No one was safe. Not the zealots, not the rebels. No one would be until the Forces stranglehold was loosened, or they all fled.

Both men sat quietly smoking for several minutes when Boromir broke the silence.

“How many is it this time?”

Imharil started and Boromir shook his head.

“Ames told me.”

Imharil swallowed and nodded.

“Two of them. Not for long. Say, three weeks at the most. Ames will take them, but he’s not coming back for a long while. Cir will take his place after that.”

Boromir took a drag and exhaled before he shrugged.

“You know the routine. When can I expect you?”

Imharil relaxed, letting his body sink back into the bench once Boromir had given his consent.

“Friday at five in the afternoon is the earliest I can manage. They weren’t in the best of shape, that’s why we’re moving them out so slowly.”

“It’s fine. I understand. They’ve not bounced back as well as the others, so it makes sense. Maybe the next stop will be kinder for them.”

Imharil murmured a noise of agreement before finishing off his cigarette and standing up.

“You in the mood for some Canadian coffee?”

 ~*~*~*~*~

“Who came just now?” Aragorn asked from his spot at Boromir’s desk when his mate came back, his hands busy sketching an alternative route through the Force strongholds outlined in the map. Although he tried to tone it down, his voice still held a slight thread of possessiveness over his mate that Boromir found a bit surprising, since he had never expected it from his mate. Other Omegas, yes, he had seen that behaviour amongst them when he had interacted with other officers and their mates. But not Aragorn, who the more he got to know made Boromir wish he had met him long before Alaska had happened. He had never gotten along so well with another person other than his brother and although he hated the circumstances that had brought them together, he was glad that he had met Aragorn.

“It was Imharil. He needs sanctuary for a couple of Omegas that are going across.”

Aragorn put his pencil down and looked up at his mate and pushed the half-finished map across the desk so that his mate could look at it.

“He’d better use this route then. Your route is good, but this one is one that has fallen into disuse now that the Dunedain are gone and I’m with you. I’m sure that Rivendell and Lorien are giving them too much grief for them to check it like they used to, now that the dwarves are making their push.”

Boromir studied it and nodded to himself as he reached over for a pencil that Aragorn put in his hand, making him look up in surprise. Aragorn moved across the desk and pressed himself against his Alpha, his skin warming up at the proximity. Boromir turned his head and pressed a kiss to his neck.

He didn’t want to get distracted, but his instincts were out in full force whenever Aragorn got close. He wanted only to taste and touch and feel and leave the mental work aside. But he also knew that Aragorn’s ideas had helped them in the past while and that there would be time enough for love.

“We’ll tell Imharil, when he arrives with the Omegas. We do need another route and soon.”

Aragorn sighed and pointed to the northwest corner, where Gondor and the border met.

“Will the government let them cross?”

Boromir pulled away from Aragorn and marked the spot with the pencil.

“I can find out. Or Faramir can. I know that Canada is letting refugees. But the troops are the big question here and we can only stall for so long. I’ve already done what I can. It’s up to Lorien, Rivendell and Mirkwood. Ered Luin is ready.”

Aragorn nodded, his mouth stretching into a feral grin before he pushed all the maps off the table and shoved Boromir onto its surface. Boromir only had a few seconds to blink before Aragorn straddled him.

“They will be. You will be sure of it, my Steward.”

He whispered before claiming Boromir’s mouth forcefully and leaving strategy behind.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There are new players introduced here and their analogues are as follows:
> 
> Glorfindel-Nikolaj Costeau Waldeau is whom I picture as Glorfindel, since he is powerful and old enough, but has experience on the battlefield and not afraid to get his hands dirty.
> 
> Fern-Jonathan Rhys Meyers. It will make sense later. Honest. 
> 
> And thank you to all that are reading and commenting, much appreciated and also, much inspiration has been given because of the questions asked. Cheers.


	6. I Feel The Time Has Come, I Hear The Sound Of Drums

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ered Luin takes its revenge, refugees are dealt with and Boromir and Aragorn get a warning call, while Gondor somehow has called for aid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty long and dense chapter and a bit gory in its descriptions. It's war in hand to hand combat, so it cannot be avoided. There are potentially triggering things regarding off-screen assault, so read at your own risk. War is never pretty and I have tried to portray this as respectfully and not over glamourizing it as best as I could.
> 
> Again, it has been proofed, but mistakes may prop up. My apologies. 
> 
> Title is a nod to Kula Shaker's song "Sound of Drums"

The bar was as seedy and as run down as Oropher had expected it to be and that comforted him somewhat. It wasn’t his kind of place, but it was a small sign that the universe was still running in some mysterious arrangement that proved what had happened in Middle Earth was simply a temporary madness. Oropher smiled slightly as he walked to the bar and waited for the dwarf to climb on his stool.

He was also relieved that he was as ordinary as the rest of the patrons. The worn work clothes and brown hair colour made him look as if he was just another worker stopping by the bar after work, the proof that they worked fairly obvious when no one else bothered to look his way once he had gone to the bar. Despite his original misgivings about Faramir’s advice, he had to admit that Steward knew his job. He also was not proud enough to admit that those two had been a great asset to the network.

“Yeah? What are you having?”

Oropher blinked at the dwarf that was speaking to him and tried not to grin. Dwalin was exactly as Dis had described him: dirty, unkempt and looking like he had just climbed out of a biker rally. His accent was thick enough to make Oropher wonder if he had heard correctly, but when Dwalin jerked his head back to the shelves behind him Oropher understood quickly.

“JD and Coke.”

Dwalin’s eyes glinted in what could have either been surprise or amusement, but he fixed up a double and slid the glass over to Oropher. He picked it up to take a swallow when Dwalin put a cardboard beermat on the counter. Oropher took a sip and tried to not snicker at the fact that it was just Coke. It looked like he hadn’t been the only one that had been prepped beforehand.

“How much do I owe you?”

“Five bucks. It’s still happy hour.” Dwalin answered as he leaned over the bar and jerked his head to the grubby chalkboard where the drink specials were listed in barely legible writing.

“Here. You got change for a twenty?”

Oropher pulled out a twenty dollar bill that he had folded in a square to keep it secure. He didn’t quite understand the intricacies of paper notes and would often fold them into the smallest rectangles and squares to give them some kind of weight.

Dwalin grunted and accepted the proffered note, not batting an eye at the way it was folded and went to the register. Oropher slowly drank his Coke to keep up the illusion of what he had ordered and watched as Dwalin took his time with putting the note in the till and returning with his change.

“Much obliged.” Oropher replied once the notes were in his hands. Dwalin inclined his head and tapped the bar twice. Oropher finished the drink in one long swallow and pocketed the beer mat.

“Thanks.”

Dwalin only grunted in reply and Oropher left the bar. He walked to a convenience store and bought a newspaper and an iced tea to cut the chemical taste of the Coke in his mouth. Once he had paid, he stepped outside and did a casual sweep of the car park, smiling slightly when he saw the car that he had been looking for. He waved and jogged to the car, getting in without any preamble.

“I’m guessing it went well, Fern?”

Oropher scowled at the name, even though he had been the one to pick it out. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the beer mat, handing it to the driver.

“As smoothly as it could be, but check just in case, Ames.”

His companion scowled, but Oropher figured it was only fair. They both hated their names, but sacrifices simply had to be made.

Ames did as he was told, splitting the cardboard with his fingernails to find a tightly folded square of paper in between the carefully glued halves.

He opened it up and laughed quietly once he read the message and passed it to Oropher. Although the letters were painstakingly written and a few were smudged, it was clear enough to read the message it conveyed: _“Hey, Ho. Let’s Go!”_

~*~*~*~

It should have been a quiet night. They hadn’t gotten any hints that anything was going to happen. The Easterlings on the parameter patrol were as diligent as ever in keeping a close eye on the area. It was close to shift change and even though they kept on patrolling, nothing was changing. The mountains and the woods surrounding the area were still, the only sounds being the usual curlew cries and the throaty music of the frogs around. A few crackling noises broke the stillness and the two Easterlings on patrol got suspicious.

They looked at each other and one of them pointed to the east where the noises had come from. His partner nodded and headed over to look. He had just gotten a few steps away when the same crackling noise erupted from the North West corner of the area. Startled, he spun around and turned to go and explore the other noise. He was halfway there when the choking noise of someone dying caught his attention.

His head turned as he looked for his partner.

His eyes widened and he raised his gun when he saw his erstwhile partner slowly collapsing to his knees as his hands twitched at his throat, his fingers clumsily scrabbling to pull the arrow that had pierced his throat. He managed to grab the end and pull it out. He gasped and choked as the blood poured from the wound. His eyes widened before a tearing noise erupted from his throat and he fell face first in the bracken.

The Easterling opened his mouth to yell out a warning, but the advent of an axe burying itself into his chest stopped him from even voicing a whisper. He gasped and looked down at the weapon sticking out of his chest. He realized that it was an Ered Luin axe. His numb fingers groped, and the axe moved only to release some blood. He sighed and fell onto it, his eyes fixed on the forest floor.

His life was slipping away and he saw a pair of heavy boots before he was turned to face the sky.

He saw a sorrowful face, with gold hair in braids framing it. He heard a guttural prayer and something that sounded like it could have been a whispered apology before the axe was ripped out. He cried out and as his life faded, he heard the screaming of mortars and the sky was suddenly engulfed in a thousand supernovas setting it aflame.

Then he died.

~*~*~**~*~

Bofur panted in effort as he pulled out his pickaxe from the eye socket of the man he had just flattened. He jerked his head to look at Bifur, who was leaning over two bodies and was splattered with blood. Bofur winced at the sight, but focused on the next wave of troops that the first shelling had pulled out. They knew the reconnaissance had been successful when no troops came out and Dis had given the order for the bombing to begin.

It had bought them the time they needed to kill off the first line of troops, the Easterlings dying like flies as they used axes, swords and guns to finish them off. Bofur hadn’t seen that much action since he had been discharged from the Dwarrow Division just before it had disbanded, but he had seen enough to know that the information and the scouts had been their saving grace.

Bifur shouted at him then, yanking him out of his thoughts and forcing him to block the attack with his forearm. The blow was hard and despite hearing his forearm cracking; it held on long enough for him to sink the needle like dagger he carried into the Easterling’s throat before breaking. He gagged when both the pain and the blood soaked him after pulling it out, but he wasn’t about to leave a good weapon in a carcass.

He panted, but kept moving when Bifur gave him the warning. He could still fight one handed if he had to. This was too important for him to step back from.

~*~*~*~

Fili didn’t waste time with the dead Easterling. He forced himself to not give into compassion. He knew that their troops wouldn’t show them any mercy and he was determined to have his people be the winners this time. He retrieved his axe, efficiently stripping the body of weapons, munitions and anything else that could be useful in their attack of the Forces compound. When he was finished, he was several weapons and munitions richer and had already put them to use when the expected waves of Easterlings came out of the shelled compounds.

Fili felt himself grinning as he jumped into the fray, hiding behind a rock and picking them off. None of them made it closer and after he had mowed down two waves, Fili decided to storm the compound, not willing to spend any more time in futile fighting.  An Easterling spotted him and slammed the butt of his gun against Fili’s temple as he sprinted through the throngs of bodies. Fili ducked and swung up the dagger he had in his belt, ripping the man’s vest and belly open. The man screamed, falling to ground with his hands pressed against his open stomach as entrails slipped out.

Fili didn’t pay him any mind. Just like he didn’t pay any mind to the howls of the Ered Luin clan as more shells and bombs exploded, leaving the Easterlings confused and open for attack. He fought like one possessed, leaving bodies and men howling in his wake. They had an objective to meet and nothing else mattered at that moment.

“All right, Lad?”

He blinked at the sight of Dwalin using a war club as easily as anything to split the head of a Forces man with one blow. Fili winced at the meaty crack and ducked as a bayonet came at him. He jumped out of the way and shot point blank at the face of his attacker, who dropped without another movement. Fili didn’t look down at the ruin of the face and grinned at Dwalin instead.

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Good. Duck.”

Fili obeyed and heard another body thump to the ground. The two dwarrows nodded curtly and rushed ahead, the battle thinning out the closer they got to the main structure of the compound. More human bodies were scattered around than dwarrow bodies, which was a relief to Fili. Their population was low enough; they couldn’t afford to lose all of their people.

“Head west, that’s the control room. Disable all the comm. Dis is in the command room. Meet at the garages in thirty. Got it?”

Kili gave a short jerk of his head before the dwarrows split up. He heard Dwalin give his war cry again and pushed it out of his head.

He had a job to do.

~*~*~*~

Beregon’s hands shook slightly when he handed the folders to Faramir on his first day back from the two week leave that had gotten cut short after the Appalachians exploded. He noticed it, but understood to not say anything when Beregorn gave a minute shake of his head and tapped the underside of Faramir’s left wrist. Faramir lifted one of the folders and rapped Beregorn across the knuckles, making the younger man give a watery grin before he departed back to his work rounds.

He swore internally as walked to his desk and opened the folders to examine the damage that had been caused by the uprising in the Appalachians. An uprising that despite the troops sent in couldn’t be overturned. The Ered Luin and Misty Mountain dwarves had attacked in the dead of nights with weapons that they shouldn’t even have _known_ how to use. But they had and the Forces grip on the Eastern seaboard had been crushed.

Faramir sighed over the numbers and winced. The Forces, despite superior numbers, had heavy casualties. There was no way in hell he could not make those numbers look any different, nor could he come up with anything to counter them. The terrain was not optimal for a full-scale movement, nor could they carpet bomb and get it over and done with. There were too many civilians that would be killed and there was no way that the propaganda machine could hide it all.

The Forces were crippled in the East and it wouldn’t be too long before they would turn their eyes to Gondor.

“Well, fuck.” He swore as he flipped through more of the files and read the suggestions. He pulled out a pen and started scribbling out counter methods that would buy him and Boromir time.

He also supposed, he mused as he shut the file and moved onto the next one, that he would have to get Boromir to convince their father to stall at the next Council meeting that he knew would be coming up soon.

He would also have to tell Eowyn to get the weapons and to contact Ames and Fern.

They had to move and fast.

~*~*~*~

Boromir squinted at the piece of cardboard backing that he was cutting with an exacto knife, careful to keep within the lines as he did. The Canadian government would accept most of the refugees crossing into their borders but they were meticulous about paperwork. It was a well- known fact that the dwarves had almost no real records of their lineages or areas due to their secrecy and brutal Diasporas from Europe centuries past. Most countries wouldn’t accept them when without those, having been badly burned in earlier waves of refugees entering their borders and more often than not, they got sent back and locked into the same fate that they had been avoiding in the first place.

Boromir grimaced at the thought, but his hands didn’t waver as he finished the cut and pulled the two pieces apart. They separated smoothly and he put the extra to the side. Supplies were costly and he would be able to find a use for it eventually. He didn’t like thinking about those dwarves, since escorting the dwarves to the facilities had been one of his duties when he had been pressed into the main army as a cadet.

He shook his head to dispel the image of him in a too large grey-blue uniform while trying to anxiously herd hysterical Omegas into an armoured truck. He was little more than a boy, but he had never forgiven himself for taking part. None of the exiles had blamed him later on, but he still hadn’t shifted the blame from his own shoulders.

He put the exacto knife down and pulled off his reading glasses to rub at his tired eyes. He figured that maybe he should either take a break or call it a night if he was feeling so drained, but he had a nagging feeling that he needed the paperwork ready for the dwarves currently huddling in the Priest’s hole beside the pantry. He had been tempted to leave it until the next day and indulge Aragorn in their bed, but the feeling was one he knew better than to ignore from experience. He had the scars to prove it and had started the painstaking and meticulous work in his study.

Instead of giving in, he stretched out the kinks in his shoulders and set to work.  He doesn’t stop to think about his tiredness or how his eyes burn until he’s got the two sets of identification for Kili and Oakenshield done. He examines his work again. To his eye, they looked perfect. He should know. He had the job of checking paperwork before he was in the infantry.

He slid them into a document bag and puts them in the safe along with his own, Aragorn’s and the unborn pup’s papers. He may have been overcautious, but if anything happened to him, he’d rather have his mate and pup provided for. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, but he had learned it didn’t hurt to be careful.

Sighing heavily, he made his way back to his chair and slumped down. His chest was hurting for a change and he rubbed idly at the thick mess of scar tissue where the bullet went in. He hated to admit it, but he was exhausted and was glad that he had finished the papers before he was too tired and made a costly mistake.

He closed his eyes and sat back, letting his thoughts drift off wherever it wanted when he felt a presence hovering close by. He waited, not ready to break the spell when the presence cleared their throat and spoke. He opened his eyes and was surprised to see Kili Durinhardt standing nervously in front of him with his eyes darting back and forth as if he expected Boromir to pounce on him at any moment. Despite the two weeks that he and his uncle had spent with Boromir and Aragorn, Kili was still as jittery as all out, careful to make himself smaller than usual and hiding behind his uncle whenever Boromir was around. He did well with Aragorn and Thorin did well with him, so all of their needs such as food, medical care and even simple conversation were met. Boromir suspected that even though Kili and Thorin hadn’t been molested, the trauma of being caught, brutally beaten, and shorn was enough to make the dwarrow twitchy.

“Did you need something, Kili?” He asked, careful to keep his voice low and his gestures slow and non-threatening. Kili bit his lip and nervously ran his hand across his shorn head. Aragorn, had trimmed it for him, but there were still patches of bare, scabbed over scalp on Kili’s head. Boromir watched him and wondered whether Thorin had gotten another infection or ripped his stitches open, events that had happened a little too often as of late and were worrying them, since they couldn’t transport them across the border if Thorin was delirious and raving. They could possibly risk it, but it wasn’t an option that Boromir was willing to take. Not when his transport crew would be a Beta, a skittish elf and a pregnant Omega.

“My uncle Thorin. He’s broken his heat and I need help to get him to the lavatory.”

Boromir stood up slowly and tried to not loom over Kili.

“Is he alone?”

Kili shook his head as he walked beside Boromir. “He’s with Aragorn right now. We figured that it would be better if he stayed with uncle just in case.”

Boromir made a noise of agreement as they made it to the room that Thorin had been sequestered in once his heat had started. Kili’s had passed the first week they had arrived and had mercifully lasted only a few days. But Thorin’s heat had been fairly turbulent, since the infection of his wounds had multiplied the ill effects of this particular heat. It had been bad enough that Boromir couldn’t stay in the same room without triggering the dwarrow’s mating drive and avoided him until now. If Kili and Aragorn thought that it was safe for him to help out, he would trust their judgement.

They entered the room and Boromir was glad that Aragorn had thought to open the windows and burn sage in the room, cutting the scent of pheromones in the air. Aragorn himself was stripping the bed, his movements still fluid and not hampered by the visible protrusion of his belly. Thorin was blinking sleepily at everyone in the room as he sat on a chair with the last clean sheet as his only clothing. The sight of him looking so vulnerable and weak made Boromir’s heart clench.

He had dealt with the dwarrow in times past, before his people had gone to the south east in search of shelter and peace to pursue their crafts. He remembered the imposing figure of Oakenshield and how he had fought to protect his people. A king, despite being an Omega had done everything that he possibly could have in his power to keep Ered Luin and Moria from splitting and going on opposite sides. Boromir had been sure that he was meeting an Alpha the first time they had spoken on the crossroads and had been surprised when Imrahil had brought him and Kili into their house. He hadn’t shown his surprise when dealing with the beaten, shorn and demoralized king then and wasn’t showing it as he helped Thorin rise. He kept his face completely blank when sheet slipped to reveal the patchwork of angry wounds shot through with black thread splayed across his left side and the brace that kept his leg locked in position to heal. Dwarf bones could withstand more abuse, but even they had a limit and the mercenaries that had captured Oakenshield and his nephew had pushed beyond it.

Boromir didn’t say anything, only kept a firm grip on Thorin’s upper arm, mindful of the stitches as they edged their way to the lavatory.  He worked from memory, careful to keep his interactions clinical and impersonal as he filled the tub, poured bath salts and soap in the water and helped Thorin climb in. Boromir remembered all too well how it had been for him when he was barely able to stand on his own and relied on Faramir to carry him into the bath and wash him in a depressing role reversal when he used to do the same for Faramir. He had hated it then and he was sure that Thorin would hate it as well. So he tried to be as unobtrusive as possible while Thorin finally roused out of his daze long enough to wash off the heat effluvium from his body.

“I’m sorry, for delaying everything.”

Boromir’s head jerked up, his expression puzzled at Thorin’s words.

“If I had been able to withstand it, we-”

“Don’t apologize, Oakenshield. Never apologize for your nature. We knew that it could happen, with all that you and your nephew endured. We may be delayed, but we still have enough time. Don’t make yourself a martyr when there’s no need.”

Boromir interrupts him quietly. Thorin’s lips pressed firmly at that and he looked like he wanted to argue, but didn’t. He knew that the Gondorian wouldn’t just say anything to make him feel better. Boromir was only free with his words when he was with the Dunedain, his partner. If he spared him the words, Thorin was damned well aware that they were meant.

So he kept quiet and continued washing up, something that took less time now that his hair was shorn down to the scalp as Kili’s had been. He still flushed with shame when he recalled how soldiers had pinned him and Kili down and used shears to get rid of their hair. He had roared and fought back, earning himself the beating that had broken his leg. He still could hear the mocking laughter as one of the soldiers held him and cut off his beard with scissors.

Imrahil had trimmed it for him and that was how he had kept it since then. He mourned the loss of his hair, just like he mourned the loss of his home and freedom. Exile, despite how often it had happened in their history would never stop being painful. He bit his lip and instead forced himself to look at Boromir.

He was saved from asking for help because Boromir was already standing up and reaching towards him. He helped Thorin wrap himself up in a towel and got the plastic bin liner off of his braced leg and helped to get him dressed and back to the Priest’s hole. Kili was there, already clean and lying in bed, his eyes barely open from the excitement of the day. Thorin noticed the half-filled plate of food and made a beeline for it. Boromir watched the dwarf king approach the food and made a mental note to thank Aragorn for having thought of that.

“We’ll come for you when it’s time. Have a good night.”

“Good night, and thank you again, Boromir.” Thorin replied, inclining his head in gratitude. Boromir cleared his throat and waved his hand.

“My pleasure as always, Thorin.”

~*~*~*~

Aragorn heard the knocking on the front door and froze. He looked at the clock in what had once been Boromir’s study but was now their shared space and felt his pulse start to race. Boromir was still helping Thorin and no one was supposed to come to the house.

Muttering a few choice swear words, he made sure that nothing incriminating was out before he moved quietly from the desk. Although nearing his second semester, he was still as agile as he was in the woods. He moved towards the Pantry and nearly screamed when he crashed into Boromir’s chest.

“What’s going on? What’s got you scared?” Boromir whispered, looking into his mate’s wide eyes and cursing himself for having grown too complacent.

“The door-”

That was as far as he got when they both hear a heavy pounding at the front door.

Boromir swore quietly and shoved Aragorn towards the study, both of them moving as quickly as they can. Once in the study, Boromir counted five panels away from the window and punched the wood in. A panel opened and he pulled out a couple of guns and two army knives, the serrated kind to do the most damage. He hands one to Aragorn along with the gun and a clip of ammo.

“Here. Slide the safety off. I trust you know how to handle a gun?”

Aragorn nods mutely as he follows Boromir’s instructions.

“Good-”

There was no time for anymore instructions.  The front door had crashed open and Boromir just had enough time to hide the weapons, Aragorn following suit before the two Force Officers entered the study, having bypassed the living room completely.

“Is there any reason why you’ve barged into my house without permission or a warrant?”

Boromir queried calmly as he moved closer to Aragorn, careful to keep on his left side.

One of the officers, a weedy tow-headed youth barely out of cadet training sneered at the question, making Aragorn subtly shift into fight mode. The boy was spoiling for a fight and despite Boromir keeping his calm; Aragorn knew that it wasn’t going to end well.

“We got a tip, Captain Steward, that you might be aiding and abetting rebels. We came to have a look if that’s the case and take your mate in for custody if that’s the case.”

Aragorn froze at that, his hands covering his belly protectively. He was damned sure that he was the target because of his pup. They would use both of them as leverage to force Boromir to do anything and in the end; he had no doubt that they would rip his pup out of his body and leave him to bleed out even if Boromir did everything that they asked.

He knew Boromir felt the same way by the way his skin heated up and his breathing got sharper. Although war wounded, Aragorn had no doubt that Boromir could still fight. He had to keep in shape to compensate for the missing leg and his damaged lung and was in good shape despite all of that. He just hoped that he timed it carefully enough to make it worthwhile when he finally lashed out.

The other officer, a cruel faced middle aged man gave them a wintry smile as he moved closer to Boromir and Aragorn. His hand was just about to grasp Aragorn’s arm when Boromir put himself in between them, blocking him from reaching his partner.

“Where’s the warrant?”

The officer’s reply was to sneer and shove him out of the way, knocking him against the other officer, who wrapped his arms around Boromir.

“What year are you living in, Steward? We don’t need a warrant to haul you and this bitch in!”

Boromir’s control snapped at that. With a roar, he smashed his head against the kid’s face, forcing him to let go. The youth howled, his hands coming up to cup his bloody nose. Boromir used the time to punch him. He got a couple of good hits in, but the kid was fast and canny enough to grab him and sweep his feet out from under him. They rolled around the room, oblivious to the other two occupants in the room as both men did their best to strangle each other.

Aragorn had moved swiftly when Boromir had left his side and used the desk chair as a barried between himself and the middle aged officer, who wasn’t pleased at being deprived of his prey so easily. He lunged over the chair, after a futile standoff where Aragorn had checked his every move and managed to grab Aragorn’s arm, pulling him into a tight embrace. Aragorn’s eyes widened, but he didn’t make a noise as he slid the knife Boromir had handed him and fought to get it in his captor’s throat. The man saw the knife and tried to push Aragorn away, knowing full well what would happen if Aragorn got the blade close enough. He was succeeding and Aragorn didn’t know what would have happened if the loud snap and crunch of bone hadn’t filled the room, distracting the officer and giving Aragorn enough time to sink it in and slice the man’s throat open.

Aragorn pushed the officer away, not caring how long it took him to bleed out and went to Boromir, who was wheezing under the weight of the younger officer with his right leg twisted at an impossible angle.

“Get-him-off.” Boromir wheezed, snapping Aragorn out of his trance. He grunted as he rolled the body off of Boromir, not even flinching when he saw the mangled and bloody face.

He only had eyes for Boromir, whom he embraced tightly now that the adrenaline rush had worn off and left him with a headache. He buried his face into Boromir’s shoulder and fought the impulse to cry. He didn’t know why he was feeling weepy, only that he was going to do it shortly.

“Aragorn love, I know you’ve had a nasty shock, but I need you to keep it together for a bit longer. I need you to call a few people for me. I also need for you to get my other leg, since I happened to break this one on that asshole’s face. Can you do that for me?”

~*~*~*~*~

Elladan had just shuffled blearily into the kitchen and grabbed a cup. He had one in his hand and when he turned to pour coffee, he nearly dropped it at the sight of his father, grandmother and Amroth sitting in full battle gear at the table.

“What the fuck?” He whispered, looking around for his grandfather, who was calmly packing his sniping gear and shoving his fatigues at him.

“Get your coffee and get dressed, Elladan. Gondor has called for aid.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did research and yes, Boromir has been invalided out, but it doesn't mean he's gone soft or weak. I also did my research and if done properly, a blow to the nose can kill. Aragorn too, has been trained as a Ranger and has years of experience so he'd be able to fight. I've experienced adrenaline rushes where I just start crying because of the crash, so that's where I'm taking it from. Also, hormones. 
> 
> Thorin and Kili, I have tried to not make weak, but they are victims and have been abused and traumatized, so they would be a bit off kilter and honestly, I don't think anyone just bounces back after they've been terrorized and abused. I know that some First Nations groups also hold great importance to hair and I went with that for Thorin and Kili, hence them having being shorn and Thorin's grief over it. 
> 
> And also, thank you all for reading, commenting and enjoying this as much as I do in writing it. Cheers.


	7. To the Soldier, The Civilian, The Martyr and the Victim: This is War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chaos has erupted in the East and Denethor knows what is to come next and needs to stall it to get his sons in place for the next step. In Lothlorien, war is in full force and brings horror and surprises of the welcome and unwelcome kind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's getting close to the homestretch now and this chapter deals with diplomacy, the failure of it, sacrifices that need to be made, violence and some of the ugly aspects of war itself (rape being one of them) if this triggers you, please heed this note and warnings. 
> 
> As always it has been edited, but if mistakes show up, my apologies. I did do research on the gun/sniping situation and if inaccurate, apologies. 
> 
> Title from 30 Seconds to Mars, "This is War"

Denethor paced in his office methodically, his thoughts elsewhere as he completed yet another circuit of the room. His mind is elsewhere, miles away from the Citadel and what is happening outside. The Forces were collapsing and it was the beginning of the end, even if they were desperately trying to hide the situation. His mouth curled up in a mirthless smirk as he stopped and looked down at the polished dark stone that his Omega had given him on the day of their bonding. He used it as a paperweight and had spent countless hours staring at its polished surface as he figured out how to navigate his responsibilities to the government and to his people.

He didn’t look at it now, as he paced up and down. He already knew what was happening. He also knew what he had to do. There was only one outcome and had been ever since Alaska had happened. It had been a miracle that the Forces had lasted as long as they had.  He rubbed his face and his eyes, almost pushing the eyes back in their sockets as he tried to not let the exhaustion on the edges of his consciousness creep forward.  Once he was done, he shook his head and went to the sideboard to pour himself a stiff shot of whiskey to brace himself for what was coming next.

He had been so damned tired ever since Boromir had come of age and had been conscripted into the Army. He had hoped that would have been enough for them, but they had also demanded Faramir to follow in his footsteps. His father had known what they were planning on doing long before the boys had gone out on their first tour of duty and had started to lay down the plans that Denethor continued to craft and shape until Boromir was old enough to take up the reins and follow in the footsteps of his forefather’s line.

He wished that he could have had time to explain everything to Boromir and Faramir, but it was too risky then and now there simply wasn’t enough time. He had already given the go-ahead to the people and had gotten his suspicions confirmed that things were moving along. Already, he had seen the order against his eldest.

At the memory of that, his fists clenched in rage and his lip curled into a snarl as he remembered being given the Silver Tree Medal because they weren’t sure if Boromir was going to wake up from his injuries. He recalled too, how broken and stricken Faramir looked and rightly so, he thought as Boromir fought, day in and day out to come back to the living and only to be pensioned out as a shameful secret.

At least until the inquiry had deemed otherwise and the government had again come to Gondor all smiles and apologies and eyeing the standing garrison that he and his father had built up when the government would come trying to break down their doors. He had received them, all smiles and charm and invited them into his office, had allowed them to curry favour and hadn’t said anything when the Dunedain and the Rohirrim had fallen into the laps of his sons. They had either forgotten or chosen to ignore their history.

And they were paying the price for that lapse in memory.

 It was all too clear that the Eastern Seaboard was not under their control. The Rohirrim and Dunedain lands and Mirkwood forests were coming back alive as the Forces were being beaten back across the Midwest. He knew that it was a matter of hours at the least and days at the most until Gondor would be pressed into service.

He finished the drink he had poured and moved to the window of his office, grimacing at the sight below of troops, tanks and jeeps as they barrelled down the streets on their way to the East and the West. No one was out and the streets looked more stark and grey by the faint light that was shining from the few streetlamps that were still working.

He remembered another time and another war. Different languages and the crushing sense of desolation and despair. Of women hiding behind shawls and the stench of death in the air and of children silent and white-faced as they watched troops go by. All of this he remembered and he wondered quietly, how they had let it go so far.

He shook his head regretfully and absently smoothed his hand down the thick serge fabric of the coat he had opted to wear instead of the uniform that they had pressed on the other members of the council. He knew that they had levelled daggers at his back when he had kept on wearing it, taking the concession as far as he possibly could. He had angered many, but charmed more. That and his standing army had forced the council to swallow their grievances and let him continue ruling Gondor like the autonomous region it always had been. He wouldn’t let them destroy it, like they had destroyed Rohan and the Dunedain.  

He sighed and crossed his arms. He could only hope now that Rivendell and Lorien had gotten the message and that Boromir and the others were on their way. That was all he could do for them and his people, to buy them time before everything went to hell.

There was a knock on the door and Denethor felt like it was his death knell coming. He turned and saw that it was one of the cadets sent to fetch him.

“Lord Steward, the Council requests your presence.”

He was tall and scrawny and built like Boromir and Faramir had been at that age until they finally filled out. Only the hair and eyes were wrong: The boy had deep brown eyes and black hair to make a contrast with his olive-tinted skin.

“Lead the way.”

~*~*~*~*~

“Eowyn!”

Eowyn looked up from the book she had been reading, her face drawing itself into a puzzled frown when she saw Faramir followed by an elf and a man. They were all dressed in beaten fatigues and work clothes and one of them had his hair drawn away from his face, but it was still covering his ears. She assumed that was the elf, despite the other one being so pretty looking enough to pass for one. All of them were carrying heavy duffle bags and the look of desperation in Faramir’s eyes made her stand up and run to him, despite looking as if she was a well-trained Omega.

She shut that part of her that complained down and instead focused on the issue at hand.

“War’s finally broken out, hasn’t it?” She asked quietly, making Faramir nod.

“Yeah and it’s just a matter of time until it spreads from the Appalachians to Rivendell and Lorien and then us. Here.” He had opened the bag when he had been speaking to her and handed her a rifle and several cartridges, making her eyes widen in shock at the unexpected hand-off.

“Go to the closet and get the two duffles that are stored there.” He paused and looked at her flimsy dress, the one item of clothing deemed suitable for female Omegas and shook his head.

“There are clothes there. Dress yourself accordingly. We can’t stay here any longer.”

Eowyn’s mouth went dry and a million questions were flooding her mind, but she followed orders. She knew, from watching her brother and uncle that there would be time for words later. Faramir’s anxiousness was thrumming under his skin and she could feel it, like electricity over her body. It was the same feeling that she got whenever Eomer had gone out in raids and that familiarity made her obey.

She put the cartridges and guns down and went to do as Faramir asked and came back ten minutes later; carrying the duffels he had asked for and dressed in the smallest trousers, shirt, boots and jacket she could find. Faramir nodded his thanks and they all exited the house without a backwards glance. Faramir and his two companions didn’t speak as they climbed into an army supply truck that had been left parked in the driveway.

The Elf got into the driver’s seat and started the car, driving carefully away from the house and towards the highway. The rest of them sat in the back, on the benches that were only separated from the front by a low partition. Once they were settled, that was when Faramir spoke to her again.

He turned to her and she saw the Alpha in him then, the part of himself that he never bothered showing unless it was necessary to do so. The part of him that made the Omega in her respond wholeheartedly and made her want to bare her throat to him right then and there. She would have, but Faramir’s focus was elsewhere.

 “We’re going up West and crossing the border and I’m going to need for you to load that rifle and keep it at the ready.”

Eowyn’s throat constricted at the matter of fact way that he was telling her they were going to defy a government that had trapped her, branded her and sold her. She wanted to laugh and tell him he was crazy and that it wouldn’t ever work, but the determined look in his eyes told her that he was dead serious.

“How are we going to manage it? We got caught last time! The Rohirrim and the Dunedain lands are forfeit and they were the closest to the border! How will your plan possibly work?”

The elf sniggered and shook his head.

“Rivendell and Lorien rose up against the Forces and the Hobbits have hidden.”

Eowyn frowned, trying to remember the map she had seen of all the autonomous regions in the land. But the images wouldn’t come, since they were so faded in her mind. She hadn’t gone to school much after she was a teenager and the laws had changed for all of them. She also didn’t have time, always having to be on her guard in case someone tried to force her.

Then when they started trying to take the Omegas, she fought back. School had fallen by the wayside then and she had learned from Eomer and Theoden and Theodred and that had been good enough for her.  Besides, she could recite the dirges and the eddas of her people and that was more precious than anything else she could learn from the outside.

“There are new paths being opened, that’s what Fern means.” The other man explained, giving Fern a glare at being so oblique in his commentary. “And the elves are going to help. Gondor’s called for aid.”

Faramir’s eyes went wide at that piece of news and his head snapped back to look at the man so quickly that Eowyn was surprised he didn’t get whiplash.

“When did it happen, Beregorn?”

Beregorn didn’t reply right away and dug into his jacket pocket for a bloodstained envelope.

“Last night. After the order was given out to bring your brother and his Omega in.”

Faramir’s jaw twitched at that and his hands shook as he tried to rip the envelope open.

Eowyn put her hand on his and he stopped, but his face still remained impassive, his jaw still twitching at the news.

“Did they get them?”

Beregorn laughed, making Faramir and Eowyn look at him in surprise. Fern turned his head to look at them both briefly, sniggering all the while before he went back to looking at the road again.

“This is your brother and a Dunedain we're talking about, Faramir. They got away from here and we’re going to meet them in Gondor. The rest of the instructions are in the letter.”

Beregorn told him. Eowyn bit her lip and took her hand off of Faramir’s to allow him to get the envelope completely open and read the contents of the single letter it contained.

Faramir’s face went pale as his eyes skimmed the message. He didn’t falter and handed it to Eowyn to see.  Eowyn took the letter and read it quickly, committing the words to memory as she would have when Theoden and her brother would hand her plans and tactics ideas back in Rohan. She looked up and was about to hand it to Beregorn, but he shook his head.

“I know what it says. Denethor wrote it in front of me, before he was taken away.”

Faramir’s mouth thinned into a straight line, his lips pinched white when he took in what Beregorn was telling him. He took the letter back from Eowyn and folded it up, shoving it deep into his pocket. He took a deep breath and shook himself out of his daze.

“Right then. Fern, don’t stop. We need to get to Ithilien.”

“You got it, Steward” Fern replied, stepping on the gas a bit more and turning right to head onto the required place.

~*~*~*~*~

Elrohir had left him ages ago, in the platform that Grandfather had built for Amorth years ago when they were all young and practicing their marksmanship.

“Watch your back, little brother. I’m going to be busy with Glorfindel and Arwen and our uncle.”

Elrohir had told him, butting their foreheads together before he had gone off to hide in his own station. Elladan had only laughed and gotten ready, his ammunition and supplies at close hand and his gun at the ready. He got in position and waited for the signal to start shooting. As always, it was Elrohir’s bird call that put him in action.

He waited though, until he saw the first scouts. They had learned from last time, at least. But it just meant slower deaths. Sure enough, one was brought down by his sister’s knives, another by uncle’s arrows and the other by Elrohir’s shooting. He found himself frowning when he thought that there was no one left for him. At least until he caught movement at four o’clock and he fired, hitting the soldier in the back.

That was when all hell broke loose and the peace of the forest was destroyed by the sound of arrows, bullets and fire. That had been almost a day ago. Elladan swallowed down the saliva that flooded his mouth as he took another shot and downed the soldier running towards the walled compound that was Rivendell. He slid the stock back, not even flinching as the cartridge flew out and landed in the neat pile he had been building up since the battle had started in earnest. His arms were aching from holding the gun and palming the stock over and over again until the bullets ran out. His bandana was soaked through and his hair was plastered to his forehead and cheeks. But he didn’t dare move and potentially spoil his shot.

He took a deep breath and edged his palm onto the stock and exhaled the moment he had a good chance at a shot. He winced when this one buried itself into the kid’s head through his socket. The boy’s body jerked and fell like a puppet whose strings were cut off and he lay still, his helmet rolling away into the dense undergrowth of the forest of Lorien. He felt bad that he was killing kids, but he was angrier at the fact that boys were being sent to the front.

After a day and a half of pitched fighting, they were running out of men. The Forces couldn’t manvouer in Lorien and their troops were split between them and Rivendell. He already knew, from Glorfindel that the East had done a number on them and that more and more Omegas had crossed the old Numenorean trails into Canada.

He took his hand off the stock and heaved a sigh. His arms were trembling too damned much for him to actually fire again and whether he liked to admit it or not, killing that last soldier unnerved him completely.  He wiped his face and pushed his hair away from his cheeks, breathing heavily as he did so. Elladan then took off his bandana and re-arranged his hair under it before taking a long swig of water from his canteen. He shook out his arms, sat up and listened.

Someone was coming up to his shooting spot.

They were quiet he would have to give them that. He sat as if he hadn’t noticed that he wasn’t being stalked, but shifted slightly to pull the knife he kept strapped to his leg out, turned the blade out and waited. Sure enough, his attacker climbed up to the platform. But he didn’t attack as Elladan expected and he realized he was going to have to play dead a bit longer.

The solder murmured something so faint that he missed it with his hearing. Elladan didn’t have time to parse the meaning out, because he found himself pinned under a substantial weight of an unwashed Beta man. The man then ground his crotch down into Elladan’s and he understood then what the man was intending to do.  Elladan’s eyes flew open and he tried to scream, only to have a dirty hand clamped down on his mouth. He gave a muffled cry and struggled for all he was worth, dislodging his attacker long enough to get his arms around his attacker. Before the soldier could realize what he was doing, Elladan pulled him close and jammed the knife deep into his back.

The soldier gasped and tried to pull away, but Elladan wrapped his legs around the man pulled him closer to twist the knife deeper into the soldier’s back until the man let out a pain-filled gasp and went completely still. Elladan lay there, his breathing fast while all the fight had drained out from him when Amroth found him.

“What the hell, Elladan?” He exclaimed as he took the knife out of the rapidly cooling corpse and kicked it off to land below, eliciting some choice swearing from there. Amroth ignored it and helped his uncle sit up. Elladan was shaking and Amroth held him steady as he forced his uncle to drink some water. Elladan swallowed it down gratefully and took several deep breaths before he was able to come to himself.

“All right, nephew?” Amroth asked Elladan, who nodded.

“Yeah…He…uhm…he…” Elladan stuttered and fell quiet closing his eyes in sudden exhaustion and leaning heavily against his uncle. He was done for the day. The near assault had done him in. He just wanted to go home, crawl into bed and forget that he could have had the same thing that happened to his grandfather happen to him as well.

“You don’t have to say anything. Allright? I just want to know you’re okay before I take you home to dad. We’re done here.”

Elladan looked up blearily at his uncle and opened his mouth to ask what he meant when Elrohir and Glorfindel showed up on the platform, their fatigues a gory mess as they arrived.

Elrohir moved forward, anxious to help his brother, but Amroth held him at bay, shaking his head and offering an apologetic glance at his second nephew.

Elrohir bit his lip and instead heaved a sigh before launching into his news.

“Dad wants is all in the great hall. Told us to leave everything and just go.”

Elladan snorted and nodded to his gun. “I’m a sniper, El. I just can’t leave-”

Amroth shook his head. “There’s no one left. The battle’s done here.”

Elladan’s eyes widened at the news. “How the hell did that happen? I mean, we were holding out own, but the troops they were sending in…Are you fucking kidding me?”

Glorfindel shook his head. “Gondor’s Captain and Gondor’s armies came through.”

“Boromir? I heard he was a complete mess after Alaska!” Elrohir exclaimed. Amroth laughed.

“Shows how much you know. He may have been down, but he’s still a Captain. Helps that he’s got Estel and Imrahil with him as well to make up the difference.”

Elladan and Elrohir looked at each other before turning back to their uncle and Glorfindel.

“He’s stolen Estel from his father then?” Elrohir asked, his hands clenching and unclenching as he wondered how his sister was going to take the news.

“What? No. Estel isn’t Denethor Steward’s Omega. Never was. He belongs to Boromir.” Glorfinderl explained calmly, while Amroth swore softly.

“Does Arwen know yet? She had designs on Estel before he was taken.”

Glorfindel shook his head. “She was at a different area when they arrived. The two sides are going to meet tonight to discuss where to go from here.”

Elladan and Elrohir only looked at each other and followed their uncle’s example.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The war is being fought in multiple fronts-The dwarves in the Appalachians and Eastern Seaboard and the Ohio valley. The Elves are more or less in a u shape around the Midwest, closer to the Pacific Northwest. Gondor is where Washington and Oregon are. Ithlien is California. The forces would be roughly in Colorado, give or take. Most of the Midwest, close to the Canadian border is Rohan, Dunedain and Numenorean land. Canada remains as always. 
> 
> The Dunedain, Gondor, Rohan, Lothlorien are basically Self Administered Regions (Think Hong Kong and Macao, Galicia, etc) within the US states, hence them keeping their own customs and physical attributes. 
> 
> Apologies for the long delay. I've seriously not had time or the energy to sit and write due to work and illness getting me.


	8. I'll Wrap My Hands Around Your Neck So Tight With Love, Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Denethor fulfills his duty. Faramir and Eowyn are on the road from Ithilien to meet with Boromir and the Alliance, While Arwen gets some news she ill prepared to deal with. Amroth and Celeborn intervene and the last act of the Forces is just beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter that starts to tie up the loose ends here and there. There is death and some violence in the form of Alpha vs Alpha, since they would be violent and touchy as all out if they suspected anyone coming in contact with their Omega.
> 
> Again, proofread, but if there are any mistakes my apologies. 
> 
> Title is from "Up In the Air" by 30 Seconds to Mars.

“Steward, get up. It’s time.” Denethor’s eyes flew open at the rough command. He didn’t make a sound as he got up off the bench he had been dozing on and straightened his torn and stained coat. They had offered to give him a uniform, but he had refused it. He wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction, even if it was the last thing that he did. He smoothed his hair back and waited for the cell to be opened. He stepped out into the corridor and smirked sardonically at seeing the guards waiting for him. They all looked too damned young to be there. Even more so than the cadet that had fetched him out of his office. He didn’t acknowledge them as they walked outside to the courtyard.

Denethor had to admit that he was surprised at the silence that greeted him. Usually, the executions were packed and noisy. This time, the few people that they had managed to scrape up were silent and scared, watching the soldiers patrol the square with wide eyes. None of them would look at him in the face though, when he was marched by them on his way to the platform. He was sure that he heard someone mumble apologies, or a line or two of the old King’s Song of Gondor, but the guards’ shouts overrode the sound. It didn’t matter if they shouted, he realized as he climbed the stairs, rust coloured from all the past executions; it wasn’t going to make a difference in how the crowd felt. They didn’t want to be there and it showed.

It was silent when the executioner bade him to kneel at the block, the sound having gone from the crowd as quickly as if someone had flicked a switch. He thought he heard someone crying softly, but he wasn’t sure. His ears were filled with the sound of his supposed treason being announced to the crowd. Denethor made no sound as his sentence was read. He knew he was going to have to die. He was going to do it with dignity and pride as would befit the line of the Stewards of Gondor.

The executioner came with a sword; surprising Denethor. He figured that he would be beheaded by an axe like a common criminal. To have a sword meant that the government was going to play up his death as much as possible as a show that they still held power no matter what was happening outside of the central districts. He smirked then, and simply lowered his head and waited for the prayers that they favoured to be sung before the sword was swung.

But to his surprise, it wasn’t the hymns that meant nothing to him or his people that were spoken. No. It was the Song of the King that was sung. He only heard three lines before the sword swung. It whistled through the air and he felt nothing else.

~*~*~*~*~

Faramir’s eyes had just closed when he heard Beregorn make his way through the trees and into the clearing where they had set up camp. Ithilien, as he had hoped, was deserted except for the Rangers, the Troops and supplies.  Just as they had agreed, Boromir had taken all of Gondor with him and had gotten the sleeper agents to get the civilians through the old paths and into asylum across the border. There had been no word as of yet, since Fern hadn’t come into contact with Legolas or Erestor yet. But Faramir, in his infrequent sleep, had seen enough to keep him from worrying. Their people would be safe in Canada and he and his armies would fight the Forces and join them later.

_“We are to be exiled. There is no future for us here. Not after the Forces will be defeated. We will lose our lands. But at least Gondor and Ithilien will be safe. We shall see each other again.”_

Faramir remembered the words and tried to not think about who had written them.

He hadn’t seen it, but he knew what would have been the course of action taken by the Forces. His father had openly defied the government that thought they had bought Gondor’s cooperation by giving them the most coveted omegas captured. Gondor’s Steward had adroitly side-stepped them and given his sons and people a chance to evacuate and join the forces of the Elven lords that would crush the weakened government forces. It was so close to the end and although Faramir understood, it didn’t bring his father back.

“Captain, we’ve gotten word from Erestor.” Beregorn’s voice roused him from his half-asleep state and he sat up, blinking reddened eyes as he looked at his second in command blearily.

“What does he say? Anything about Boromir?”

Beregorn nodded, sitting down across from Faramir, the fire making him look older and more serious than before.

“He made it. They joined the elves and decimated the Forces. The dwarves crippled the East and Fern just got word from Lindir and Cirdan that the government’s losing its grip on the people. It’s only a matter of time before two things happen: One last battle and a revolution.”

Faramir opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was a garbled mix of consonants distorted by a jaw-cracking yawn. His eyes watered and he wiped at them, preparing to continue when Beregorn shook his head and clapped him on the shoulder, pushing him towards the tent where Eowyn had retired for the night.

“We can spare a night, Captain. Go to bed. Go to your girl. She’s been missing you.”

Beregorn ordered Faramir, who only nodded as he made his way to the tent without much protest. He was bone-weary, the journey and small skirmishes taking their toll on him. They had been lucky that they hadn`t been dragged out to open war and hadn`t lost many of their number and he could thank Eru for that. He wanted to present a strong front, but knew that was impossible. If Beregorn could see it, he definitely needed sleep.

Faramir also felt his face heat up when he realized what Beregorn was telling him. He cursed himself for not having seen the look of quiet disappointment o Eowyn’s face when she had gone to bed alone earlier and not followed her. This had been the first time in weeks that they had managed to make a camp without worrying about perimeter checks or any of the Forces troops crossing their paths.  The first time that they could actually spend time together rather than simply travelling together and whiling the long hours away with promise laden conversations and stolen kisses and caresses. They couldn’t do anything more, since the threat of danger was always around, but he ached for it.

Faramir had found himself falling for Eowyn so deeply that it had surprised him. She reminded him so much of his long dead mother, in the way that she held herself and her eyes sparkled when she spoke. He loved how her hair curled at the nape of her neck and how she wrinkled her nose when she laughed and how startled she had been at the sound. How she looked at him whenever their hands brushed and how she would look at him as if she had found the answer to long puzzling question.

He swore again and promised himself that he would make the time for her in the morning. Having made that resolution to not let this opportunity to be with Eowyn with no eavesdroppers or voyeurs around, he made his way to the tent, stopping only to relieve himself and wash his hands.  He didn’t have any plans to move once he was in the tent and only wanted to sleep.

He crawled into the tent, zipping it behind him before he shucked off his boots and his heavy outer coat. Once he was just in an undershirt and trousers, he crawled up to where Eowyn was lying. He could hear her steady breathing as he curled up behind her under the heavyweight blanket. He lay behind her and buried his nose at the nape of her neck, surprised at the spicy apricot scent of her that had grown thick and sweet over the last couple of days until it had reached its apex now. She smelled like the pastries he had loved as a child and as he became enthralled in the thick, heady scent; He understood. She was in heat. His thoughts snapped when she stirred slightly at the feeling of his nose pressing against her neck, but didn`t wake.  

Or so Faramir assumed.

At least until she started to shift under the blanket. She rolled over to face him and he found himself meeting her too bright eyes in the dim light as they lay on their sides. Her lips parted as she breathed his name out in a quiet whisper.  She pressed her body against his and Faramir let out a shuddering breath of surprise at the feel of her soft body against his.

He reached out and pulled her closer, pressing her breasts against his chest before his hand moved to the front of her trousers. Her eyes widened as he popped the buttons open and unzipped her fly. She kept her eyes on him the whole time as he slid his fingers into the wet folds of her cunt.  Her eyes got impossibly wide in shock and short, ragged pants escaped her throat. He didn’t say anything as he slipped his fingers in and out of slick heat. He kept his eyes focused on hers as she moved in deeper, making her gasp loudly as he moved up to touch her clit and press down on it, rubbing the hard nub of flesh with his middle finger and being rewarded by her pained moans of pleasure. She was enjoying it and he went faster, his only guide being how her breath quickened and how much she gasped and bucked against his hand. He moved faster, pressing down and making her stiffen and give out a loud throated moan before soaking his hand.

She relaxed, almost boneless, but he wasn’t done yet. Her eyes were heavy-lidded now, her climax having taken it out of her. Faramir let her rest for a bit as he unzipped his own trousers and pulled out his turgid member. He would have let it rest, but a sense of urgency pushed him to finish. They needed this and he knew the odds of them having enough time to finally be together were going to be nil after that night.

So he only pulled his trousers down slightly, enough for him to be exposed before he did the same to Eowyn. She watched him with a puzzled expression that quickly changed to one of surprised bliss when Faramir grabbed her hip and pushed his way inside in one smooth thrust. She inhaled a sharp, ragged breath; her breathing becoming erratic and fast as Faramir moved inside her. He fit perfectly inside as his hips rocked into hers. She didn’t keen though, only gasped open mouthed when she came again, clenching around Faramir, who grunted and came right after that in an explosive, but silent release. His head collapsed on the juncture of her neck and shoulder and he inhaled the scent of her again. But this time, it had his scent of the ocean overlaid on top of it. He breathed it in, enjoying the strange combination of apricots and ocean before he sucked and bit down on her, finally marking her as his Omega.

~*~*~*~*

Arwen was battle-stained and wary and simply wanted to lie down and sleep for days. Her fatigues were crusted with blood and bracken and her weapons needed to be cleaned and oiled and she felt like she had aged a century in just that one battle. She wasn’t truly a warrior and didn’t take to it like her father and brothers did. Even Elladan, being an Omega and all that, was a better fighter than she could be. She had only gotten into the fray in hopes that it would help her eventually find Estel and even though she was bone-weary, she would gladly pay the price to have him by her side again.

She had promised him, when they had been younger and the world hadn’t gone mad, that they would be together. That they would be in the Dunedain lands and live out their lives as they always had. She had spent many hours thinking about their future lives together, but hadn’t gone so far as to start building up a nest egg for Estel. She wanted him to have a say in it and had put it off.

But now…she sighed and rubbed her eyes roughly with her knuckles. Now, she needed to take care of herself first. Groaning slightly, she walked over to her father’s house and trudged upstairs, ignoring the commotion going on in the first floor with elves and men running to and fro. It didn’t concern her and if it did, her father would more than likely summon her. She wasn’t worried.

Once she was in her room, she stripped off all of her weaponry-long knives, a serrated hunting knife and her revolver, all which needed cleaning and oiling before she did anything else. Arwen glanced longingly at the bathroom before sighing and getting out her cleaning supplies. It isn’t a hard task, but it is lengthy and her eyes are nearly dropping shut when she finishes putting the last gun away.

She would have fallen into bed the way she was, but the feel and stench of dried blood and ichor on her skin made her change her mind. It would be worse to scrub off later, even though she felt like she was going to pass out while standing there. Yawning widely, she ripped off her ruined gear and stepped into the bathroom, unravelling her braided hair as she turned on the water and stepped into the cubicle.

Arwen had finally finished getting clean and was terribly annoyed that it had taken longer than anticipated and had mustered enough strength to fall into her bed and finally give in to sleep.

She couldn’t say how long she had slept for when she was woken up by the cool touch of her grandmother’s hand. She bolted right up and frowned as she had to push still damp hanks of hair out of her face to look at her grandmother clearly.

“Grandmother? Did anything happen? Are we needed?” Arwen asked, already climbing out of bed and heading to her closet to grab her gear and get ready to go to war again.

“It’s not war that we are needed for, Arwen.” Her grandmother’s calm voice made Arwen pause, but not completely stop from pulling on a few items of clothing.

“What are we needed for then? Or rather, what am I needed for? Ada sent you to get me, am I right?” Arwen asked, cursing herself for not having seen it before. Something had happened to Estel. That was the only reason why her grandmother had been sent there. Already, she could feel the blood draining from her face as she remembered all the other times that her grandmother had come into her room to tell her bad news: When grandfather had been taken along with her mother, when her mother had fled to southern Commonwealth, when grandfather had returned with Amroth.

Galadriel gave Arwen a curt nod as she stood up to her full height.

“Your father sent me to fetch you now that we will meet with Gondor for the last alliance. Your presence is needed for the talks.” Galadriel explained, going to her granddaughter’s closet and pulling out the least worn combat fatigues and handing them to Arwen.

“Will Estel be there?”

“He is now of Gondor and was there during the battle. He has earned his seat at the table as has your brother.” Galadriel replied, giving an answer.

Arwen didn’t press any further and only pulled on the fatigues, ignoring the cool expression on Galadriel’s face as she got dressed and twisted her hair into a single braid that hung down to her hips.  She knew an evasive answer when she heard one and she also knew that she wouldn’t get anything else from her grandmother at that time. She knew that her cryptic replies had to do with being as protective as she knew how to be and Arwen understood it, despite not liking it. Galadriel had lost too much during the war and was desperately trying to keep her grandchildren from the heavy losses that she had experienced. Although she understood, it didn’t stop her from being a bit annoyed all the same.

She just wanted to know whether Estel was safe and untouched and ready to be her mate. She wondered if her father would consent to having them mated after the talks. They had waited long enough and she wanted for them to be mated if the war ended up going fucked up six ways till Sunday.

Arwen finished tying up the end of her braid and looked at her grandmother, who nodded in approval before they headed out to the main hall. They walked in silence and Arwen was surprised at how quiet the corridors felt. There were still elves running about, coming to and fro from the kitchens and the infirmaries, but the atmosphere was one of watchful waiting. Arwen felt herself shiver at that. Never had she felt that here, in her home and she dimly wondered if it was because war had finally come to their doorstep to stay. Or maybe the Gondorians had brought it with them. She couldn’t tell. She didn’t like the feeling and tried to push it away with thoughts of seeing Estel again. She had fought long and hard. She wanted to see him and touch him and inhale his scent once again.

~*~*~*~*

Boromir looked around the hall and tried to not look like the proverbial backwoods relative. But he couldn’t help but to admire the scenery and richness of Rivendell. Minas Tirith was a jewel in itself, but even he had to admit that the ancestral home of the Stewards looked lacking when compared to the Elven stronghold. Not only was it beautiful, it was a functional citadel that would be able to withstand any attack that the Forces would think to throw at it. Already, he was calculating what he would do if he were to mount a full scale attack on the walls. He was sure he would only need several tanks, some mortars and-

“You really are a soldier through and through, aren’t you, love?”

Boromir shook his head and turned away from the walls to look at Aragorn, who had just stepped out of the bath and was squeezing excess water from his hair, which had grown from just brushing his collar to a little past his shoulders in loose waves. He was wrapped up in a towel that did nothing to hide the large convex curve of his belly. Aragorn was nearly halfway through his pregnancy and it was showing, making Boromir feel guilty for having his mate be his point man when they had ambushed the government troops and crushed them between the wall of Elvish sniper and archers to decisively win the battle. Although he and Imharil had kept Aragorn safe and within reach, the guilt still flared up in him whenever he had seen Aragorn naked or when he had felt his pups moving after they had laid in the bed offered to them.

Boromir shrugged as he moved to stand behind his mate, kissing his neck and sucking on the wet skin, tasting their mingled scents and breathing it in again.

“It’s what I was raised to do, love. Gondorian tradition and all that and I would be a crap commander if I didn’t take everything into consideration. I never want a repeat of Alaska to happen on my watch.”

Boromir replied as he wrapped his arms around his mate and cupped his hands around the rich curve of Aragorn’s belly. The pups must have known their sire was touching their dam, since they began to kick and move, making Aragorn purr at the feel of his Alpha around him. Boromir laughed quietly and kissed Aragorn’s neck eliciting a moan and Aragorn pressing his body against Boromir’s.

“We don’t have time, Aragorn love. We have to meet the Elves soon.” Boromir muttered, biting down gently before he turned Aragorn around and captured his lips instead.

“I know and I really wish that we didn’t” Aragorn replied, regretfully pulling away and going to the wardrobe that contained fresh, neutral coloured fatigues that the house of Elrond had so thoughtfully provided their allies. After all, they had been spattered with blood and gore while helping defend Rivendell, which had seen its share of damage before the Gondorians had gotten there.

“The Elves asked for you to be there. They want to make sure that Isildur’s heir is alive and well. I don’t blame them for wanting that assurance, despite it being meaningless as we are in exile now.”

Aragorn smiled slightly at that and shook his head. “I just don’t want to cause problems between us. This was my foster home. I grew up with Elladan and Elrohir and… Arwen.”

“It cannot be avoided though, love. We’re married and you’re having my pups. No matter what you do, it will hurt her. From what you told me, it was just a matter of-”

Aragorn shook his head and moved back to wrap his arms around Boromir’s neck.

“I thought it would have been…but she never made me want to submit. Not like you did the first time we met. I knew that even if we waited, we’d never be complete. I mean…how many scents did I have when we met?”

Boromir frowned as he brought back the memories of their first meeting and mating.

“Only your own was present.”

“Exactly. We spent so many years together and even though it could have happened, it never did. There was so much to do and then I just couldn’t accept her as my Alpha and I didn’t understand why until now that you came along and-”

“But did you promise her anything? Did you give her any indication that it would happen and you’d be bonded? That’s where the real question lies. If you did…”

Boromir looked down into Aragorn’s eyes and swallowed roughly as he prepared to say the hardest thing he would ever speak out loud.

“If you did, I’d step away. If that is what you wanted.”

Aragorn snorted in disbelief and shook his head, pressing himself closer to Boromir before kissing him. It was deep and wet and had Boromir forgetting practically everything he said as he let Aragorn taste him. His lips parted open out of their own accord and he let his omega take control, leaving him breathless when the kiss was finished.

“I never made a promise to her. How could I when she never made me feel like kneeling and baring my throat to her?” He paused and kissed his Alpha again, to prove his point.

“You are my mate and you are right in that there’s nothing else to it. I just hope that an alliance is not broken because of this.”

Boromir shook his head, his eyes going hard and his mouth thinning into a white line.

“It won’t. Even the Elves know better than that.”

~*~*~*~*~*~

Celeborn sat beside his son as they watched the other Elven lords and the mixed contingent of Numenorians and Gondorians and several dwarfs; surprisingly enough that had come at the eleventh hour. He had heard, from Amroth and Elladan after he had looked them over carefully for wounds that Boromir Steward had led the troops to a decisive rout. Celeborn hadn’t been surprised by the news that Gondor had broken from the Forces and had turned on them. He had known the ancestors of Boromir and how savagely they had fought to keep their autonomy in spite of the odds. The Stewards wouldn’t give up so easily, despite seeming to have accepted the government’s decrees in their status as an autonomous region.

He knew how much of it was for show. After all, Ecthelion and Thengel king had been instrumental in getting him aid after the turncoat Rohirrim had abducted him and-Celeborn closed his eyes and forced himself to not think of that dark time. He opened his eyes and looked at Amroth, who was starting at the far end of the hall, waiting for someone to arrive.

“Who do you wait for, Amroth?”

Amroth turned to his father and sighed heavily, his blue eyes clouded with anxiety as he did.

“Arwen and Galadriel. My niece won’t be happy about Estel’s situation.”

Celeborn couldn’t help but to wince at the mention of his old Alpha and Amroth cursed himself quietly. Amroth had always known the pain his father had gone through when Amroth had been born. It was no secret that Celeborn would have still remained Galadriel’s omega if it hadn’t been for him carrying and bearing Amroth to term. But she couldn’t bear to have him beside her, not when his scarred body, deafness and half-breed bastard were there to remind her of her failures as an Alpha. The love they had for each other simply wasn’t strong enough to keep them together and Amroth had actually offered to go and live with the Rohirrim if it would help solve the problem when he had come of age, but Celeborn wouldn’t hear of it.

Amroth had remained then, no longer afraid of walking on eggshells around his father, but he was always highly sensitive to anything that could hurt Celeborn and hated it when he slipped up.

“Don’t blame yourself. It was never your fault, my Amroth. I should have known she would come. She is one of the Alphas of Lothlorien after all and of course she would be with Arwen. She is the closest thing that she has to a mother now that Celebrian is in the South.”

Amroth nodded, but that didn’t stop him from putting his hand on his father’s arm as a silent apology and also to offer his father some support when his erstwhile Alpha entered the room.

“She will need her. After she…” Amroth broke off and instead, nodded his head discreetly towards the other end of the round table. Boromir and Estel sat together by the Numenoreans, their hands intertwined as they waited for the meeting to start. It wouldn’t have been so shocking, but Celeborn understood why his son was directing his attention that way. Estel was gravid, almost heavily so. The dark grey jacket did nothing to hide this fact nor did its collar hide the scarred over mark of ownership from his Alpha.

Celeborn looked back at Amroth, who shrugged. It wasn’t that he disliked Arwen. But the age difference and the fact that he lived with Celeborn while she spent most of her time with her grandmother had served to create an unreachable distance between them.  He was more or less neutral to her while being utterly close with his nephews.

“She will feel betrayed. She had always wanted to claim Estel as her own.” Amroth commented. Celeborn said nothing, since Elrond, Arwen and Galadriel had entered the hall.

Amroth turned to look and swore again when he saw Arwen’s expression change from relieved joy to outright rage when she noticed who Estel was sitting with and his condition. Boromir Steward noticed and stood up, his expression a stoic mask, but his stance anything but. He would fight for his mate and rightly so.

The rest of the hall was as if turned to stone as they waited for the two Alphas to clash over the Omega that was watching and waiting for whatever was going to come next. Amroth bit his lip, knowing full well they couldn’t afford the stalemate that they were mired in. He also knew that his niece and Boromir would get into it and one of them wouldn’t survive it. He wasn’t stupid enough to discount the Commander of Gondor. Not when he had seen him in action both in Alaska and in Lorien.

He rose, as did his father.

But Arwen and Boromir were too damned fast and had already charged each other.

“Well, fuck!”

Amroth heard his usually solemn father mutter as they and his nephews dove into the fray.

Amroth tried to pull his niece away before she used her knives and managed it, but wasn’t fast enough to stop her from landing a quick succession of jaw cracking blows to Boromir. Celeborn took Boromir as did Elladan, but not before he had regained his composure and kicked out at Arwen, making her double over in agony and at being winded. He had also, for some reason, managed to bloody her mouth and split her lip. They both snarled and howled at each other as they were separated amid the din of all hell breaking loose in the hall. It wasn’t until Elrohir had roared for them to cease did the fighting and the noise grind to a standstill.

“Lady, please escort Lady Arwen Undomiel out. I believe that she and Estel Telcontar need to speak.” Elrohir then turned to look at Boromir, whose nose was dripping blood and was still looking mulish enough to attempt another attack.

“Commander of Gondor, by your leave?”

“Aragorn doesn’t need my leave. But he may have it all the same.”

The hall was silent as Galadriel took a hold of her granddaughter and escorted her out, Celeborn and Elladan still holding onto Boromir until Aragorn walked by. They shared a look and Aragorn came close to murmur quietly in Boromir’s ear. Boromir nodded and accepted the kiss that Aragorn offered before he departed.

“You can let go of me now. I promise I won’t attack. I also promise to hear out your demands.”

~*~*~*~*~

“I’m sorry you had to find out that way.” Aragorn apologized to Arwen as they stood in an alcove just out of hearing range from Amroth and Imrahil.  Although Boromir had made it clear it was Aragorn’s decision, Elrond had suggested the chaperones to err on the side of caution in this last meeting between Aragorn and Arwen.

Arwen snorted and blotted out the blood on her lower lip.

“Yeah, well. It’s done. It doesn’t matter anymore.”

Aragorn flinched at the sharpness of her tone, but refused to get angry. She had every right to be upset, but at least she wasn’t trying to fight Boromir or claim him. At least the alliance had been salvaged, despite Boromir and Arwen each dishing out significant damage to each other.

“So we have nothing else to say to each other then?”

“Estel…What else is there to say? You belong to another. You are carrying his pups. You aren’t mine. Maybe you never were.” Arwen flinched when she said the words, but she couldn’t stop herself from saying them. They both needed closure.

“At least…you are loved. If it had been otherwise, I would have chanced it and made you mine instead.”

Aragorn only shook his head, but said nothing as he took her hand and clasped it, kissing it before he placed the necklace she had given him so long ago in the palm of her hand. How could he explain he didn’t belong to Boromir? That he was as free as he was before he was claimed? That even if he could have submitted to her, he wouldn’t have gotten that freedom? He had seen Celeborn’s heartbreak at being placed aside for his own good and had seen the overprotectiveness that Elladan was subject to from Amroth and Elrohir. He knew that was why Legolas had been spirited across the border and why Thranduil guarded Legolas so jealously. He would have been caged, all in the name of safety. He knew it would have been done out of love, but it wouldn’t ease the chafing of the confinement he would feel.

But he knew that she wouldn’t understand, because that was what she knew. Maybe Amroth understood and Elladan to an extent. But as an Alpha, Arwen never would and it wasn’t his place to explain. Maybe it never had been.

“Good bye, Arwen.”

She only nodded and Aragorn departed, leaving her with the Lady Galadriel, who appeared seemingly out of nowhere to comfort her granddaughter while Aragorn, Imrahil and Amroth walked away. They had a battle to get ready for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The King's Song is the song that Aragorn sings at his coronation in "Return of the King" and in this universe, it is a folk song associated with Gondor. 
> 
> Boromir is well aware of Aragorn's lineage as well as his history in Elrond's household, hence the offer to step back. To him, Aragorn is his equal. Gondorians don't feel like their Omegas are property, despite their instincts to protect. Elves see them as something to be protected and watched over for their own safety and without much rights. Elladan has escaped that fate due to living with Amroth and Celeborn, who refuse to follow the old ways and give him his freedom.
> 
> Also, I tried to be fair when writing Arwen. She had hopes and there were no signs showing that they wouldn't be fulfilled and that is a sorrow that isn't gone so quickly. It is painful, so I tried to write her as fairly as I possibly could while she went through this.
> 
> Apologies for the long delay, but as the year winds down, there's very little downtime. Cheers!


	9. We Will, We Will Rise Again

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The deciding battle is going to be fought against the Forces and the Alliance of Men and Elves intends for it to be the end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter and I don't have many notes about this one. I enjoyed writing this story and it got to be more complex than I had thought in the beginning, but it was great to write. Especially in this universe and the different ideas regarding roles and expectations. 
> 
> I'm using the Maori name for NZ because of the perceptions of the races. Since they are technically analogues to Special Regions, they would use the original place names, rather than the colonial ones. Also, it just fits in with the narrative to do so.
> 
> Again, it has been proofed, but if there are errors, my apologies. Also, thank you for all that read and commented. I'm stoked that you liked this story that much. Truly, thank you.
> 
> Title comes from the 30 Seconds to Mars song "Conquistador"

Boromir checked the rifle, making sure that it loaded well and that the stock slid smoothly when he palmed it in preparation for the battle. He cleaned off the excess gun oil before sliding on the safety and setting it down. He felt someone’s eyes on him and he was surprised to meet the steady gaze of Elladan, who was doing the same thing, except that his gun was a lighter model with a longer barrel.

“Never took you for a sniper.” Elladan commented as he also finished the check of his weapon, slid the safety on and set it down beside him. They were on opposite sides of the highest Rivendell tower, the spot reserved for the best snipers or the commanders. Elladan was not quite fine with sharing his spot, but had slammed down his reservations when Boromir had taken care of one of the scouts he had missed in the fourth hour of their vigil.

The Forces were bound to make one last hit, but the Alliance of the Elves and Men could only guess at when that was going to be. So they had set up their best snipers in the parapets and waited for the troops or other scouts to be sent out. Although the Forces didn’t always engage in guerilla warfare, the fact that two scouts had been sent out proved what Boromir had thrown out during the council meeting: The Forces had learned from their mistakes and would play every dirty trick in the book to win the last battle that held everything on the line.

Boromir laughed quietly as he turned his head towards the forest that was still pretty quiet, despite the shooting that they had done moments after each other. But despite the quiet, neither man was letting his guard down. The Forces were out there and it was just a matter of time until they made their last charge. He hated the waiting, but he had no choice but to endure it.  He had learned it was better to be on the defensive than the offensive when it came to sieges, so he was content to wait.

“I was trained when I first entered the Gondorian Army. We all were. I just preferred to fight up close. Not that I can do that now.” He replied, gesturing to his prosthetic leg and to his chest. He shrugged and looked over the forest again.

“There wasn’t a gender distinction in the ranks?” Elladan asked, curious despite himself. He had become a sniper as a compromise that his uncle and grandfather had reached with his father. He had the same strength and drive as his twin and sister. He had in fact, been better at combat than Elrohir. But he was an Omega. The only one in his generation other than Legolas in Mirkwood and they couldn’t risk him being taken from them and mutilated like grandfather had, or forced to flee like mother had been. The last two had never been said out loud, but Amroth and Elladan had understood the subtle insult that the words contained. His grandfather and uncle hadn’t let it rest and had fought for Elladan to be out there. He knew that he could never repay their determination, even if they didn’t ask for payments in return. But he had known how much it had cost his usually gentle grandfather to go against the Alphas of Lothlorien and Rivendell and win.

Boromir gave him a long, searching look before he shook his head.

“Gondor needed an army. We had to take the best of what we had. Gender didn’t and still doesn’t matter to Gondorians. It’s only your ability that counts.”

He shook his head and jerked his shoulder in direction of the forest.

“If we did that, we’d end up like them and cripple ourselves. Why risk it?”

Elladan snorted and shrugged. “Guess our races don’t think the same. Being a sniper is for weak Alphas. I got lucky that my uncle and granddad spoke up for me. Or else I’d be in Canada or Aotaeroa.”

Boromir muttered something about that, but even with his hearing, Elladan wasn’t able to catch what it was that the Gondorian was saying.

“That’s just stupid. You’re skilled. That’s all that should matter and that’s what turns the tide in battles: skilled soldiers.”

Elladan made a noise of agreement, wondering if there was a story behind the words, but Boromir remained quiet. Elladan shifted a bit, feeling a bit awkward at the silence between them. It was different than when he and his brother fought side by side, so it made him slightly awkward to be silent now that Boromir had decided to talk.

“That’s what got us in Alaska. Not numbers, but the fact that they had their omegas, betas and alphas in their front lines.”

Elladan’s ears twitched at that. As far as everyone knew, Alaska was a black hole of information. No one quite knew what happened there. Only that Alaska had broken off from the Force and had built up an alliance with Russia in order to keep their independence. Boromir had been injured and he and Faramir had been disgraced. But no real details from the barebones information that was available.

“Their tactics got us in the end. Just like our tactics are going to get them now.”

Elladan looked at him sharply.

“How could that happen?”

Boromir laughed humorlessly.

“I wasn’t a commander then and when I tried to turn the tide…” He grimaced and looked down at his leg again. “Landmine got to me. Faramir, Imrahil and Beregorn couldn’t get me out of there fast enough. Things escalated quickly from there.”

Elladan’s mouth worked silently as it sank in, his mind picturing the destruction and panic that must have occurred on the field to have made a chunk of the Forces army implode like that.

“So that was why you were all court-marshalled? Because you tried to save your men rather than crush your opponents?”

Boromir opened his mouth to reply, but paused at the snaps and crackles of twigs being broken.

“Shit!”

Elladan didn’t need to ask what was going on and grabbed his gun. In practiced motions, he had it propped up on its proper spot, with his gaze fixed on the sights. Boromir cracked off a shot, and the thud of a body hitting the forest floor followed soon after. Elladan registered it faintly, his eyes fixed on his own target. There, in between two trees, he could see a faint movement. He didn’t hesitate to palm the stock and take a deep breath, holding himself still and emptying his mind before he shot.  The stock was pulled back and Elladan saw he had hit his target dead on.

The soldier was hit in the middle of running, making him jerk and drop onto the woods. Elladan didn’t waste a look on him. He shifted position and spotted another target. There. He palmed the stock again, ignoring the bullet when it jumped out of the barrel and landed at his feet. He took a deep breath and palmed the stock when he exhaled. The next shot wasn’t as clean, but it was good enough to kill the target. The soldier went down with a scream and a spray of blood. It made him wince, but didn’t stop his methodical palming of the stock and lining up another shot.

A shot that he didn’t get to take, since he was knocked down by Boromir at the last second and was left wondering why the Gondorian had done that. The answer came a second later in the shape of a mortar shell that whistled past their heads and buried itself in the roof of the archery tower behind them, showering them in brick and other debris.

“You good?” Boromir whispered once they cleared the debris and went back for their weapons and posts.

“Yeah. Just shaken up.” He confessed as he set himself up again after checking his beloved rifle over and getting his nerves under control. That was harder than he had anticipated in happening, since the Forces had finally decided to swarm Rivendell with the heavy artillery and the screaming sounds of mortars flying through the air and men screaming was all that filled his ears now.

“Just breathe through it and don’t panic.” Boromir advised him in a shout over the din. Elladan grinned and bent to his task. He had a feeling they were going to be there for a while.

~*~*~*~*

Aragorn stood by the window, his hands clenching and unclenching in nervousness as he tried to see what was going on outside. He knew that it was impossible, since he and Celeborn had been placed in the deepest part of Rivendell that would also act as an infirmary if necessary. But he still tried. He wasn’t there to watch Boromir’s back and that made him anxious. Even though Elladan had promised that he would look after his mate, it didn’t stop his heart from feeling as if it was frozen in his chest.

He winced when he was kicked by his pups and rubbed a soothing hand against his taut belly and started walking under the watchful eye of Celeborn, who was busy making sure that first aid kits were ready for any injuries or casualties that would no doubt arrive. Erestor had already been treated for a leg wound and Lindir had come in recently with a serious chest wound that Celeborn had taken care of. Both were sleeping under the influence of morphine and being checked on while the war raged outside.

“You shouldn’t worry yourself, Estel. It won’t help your pups.” Celeborn told him as he moved to help the man sit down on one of the wingback chairs that had been moved into the area. He then moved briskly and set down a cup of chamomile tea and stirred a large dollop of clover honey into it before pushing it towards Aragorn.

“How do you not worry?”  Aragorn asked as he took the cup and blew across it to cool it.

“Amorth is out there. How can you stay so calm?”

Celeborn didn’t reply at once. He took his time pouring a cup of tea and fixing it up to his taste before taking the seat across from Aragorn. He blew across his own tea and took a small sip of it.

“What else can I do? He’s a grown man and an Alpha. If I were to worry, I would be undermining his autonomy to choose to fight. He could have stayed behind. Just like your Gondorian captain. But they fight because they believe that they have something worth fighting for.”

Aragorn blinked as Celeborn’s words sunk in.

“It’s not just injustice, Estel. An abstract can motivate someone for so long. Your captain has you. Amroth has me and Elladan. So trust that they will come back in the meantime.”

“How can I trust he will come back if I’m not fighting by his side, where I belong?”

Celeborn took a swallow of tea before putting his cup down and looking sharply at Estel.

“How will getting a bullet in the back or getting kidnapped make certain he will?”

Celeborn asked harshly, his words making Aragorn flinch and look at Celeborn.  He opened and closed his mouth as he tried to say something, anything in reply to what Celeborn had just revealed. Celeborn shook his head and sat back, his hands clasped tightly as he laid them on his lap to hide the trembling. He looked down at his hands, refusing to look at Aragorn.

“I wasn’t fighting. Omegas aren’t allowed to fight, but I was in the field. I was a medic and out in the field because I needed to help. Especially after my daughter had just gone to Aotearoa, after it was decided it wasn’t safe for her here. They took me. I was captive for so long…” He trailed off and shook his head again to dispel the memories of that dark time. “My Alpha came to get me and we thought we could put it behind us. Everything that had happened could be put in the past and we could move forward. But Amroth came and I was set aside. He fights for me. For what happened to me. So I have to simply trust he will come back.”

He raised his head then and smiled briefly. He opened his mouth to speak again, but the sudden entry of Oropher and Elrond carrying Elrohir and other wounded men and elves stopped the conversation in its tracks.

~*~*~*~*

“Eru! It’s a fucking nightmare!” Beregorn shouted as he aimed and shot off several rounds from his automatic as he and Eowyn bunkered down behind their vehicle. Fern had gone on ahead as their point man and Faramir was manning the bazooka. So far, he had destroyed a tank, but the Forces were far from giving up. The armies of Gondor and Ithilien as well as some Numenoreans had them hemmed in and were slowly and surely pushing them towards the implacable force of the Elves.

It had taken the good part of a day and despite their early arrival, the battle kept raging on in a din of screams, bullets, arrows and explosions that Beregorn was sure would leave him deaf if he survived. If it hadn’t been for Eowyn and Faramir being quick with knives, he was sure that he would have been dead at least four times over already. As it was, they had amassed a neat pile of bodies and were simply waiting for Fern’s instructions to take the risk and go forward.

“I know!” Eowyn shouted as she turned and shot a soldier that was trying to sneak around their barrier and surprise them.

Beregorn grinned at her before he cautiously stuck out his head and got off a shot before sitting back down quickly beside her. They grinned at each other, at least until the barrage started again and they were forced out of their hiding spot to shoot again. It fell quiet, but it was broken by Faramir.

“Fern! How much longer? Fern!” Faramir called as he loaded the bazooka and waited for another clear shot before firing it off and hitting another tank square on. He must have hit the gas tank, because the following explosion had him scrambling down between Eowyn and Beregorn, shoving them down to the ground as debris flew past them.

“First, nice shot. Second, wait for the fire to clear. I-hang on.”

Faramir heard the sounds of scattered gunshots and the screams of the dying men were all they heard before Fern gave them the go ahead.

“Get in the truck!” Eowyn shouted, getting them to scramble into the pitted and scarred car.

“Go! Go!” Fern shouted at them and Beregorn, who had gotten into the driver’s side, put the car in gear and they sped off, not looking back whenever they bounced as they went over bodies.  The other troops followed them, scattering the remaining Forces and making them scramble for cover.

A cover that was short lived when the Elvish snipers took them down as they ran in panic, culling down the remaining Forces until the last quarter rose up holding a white flag, pausing the action completely.

~*~*~*~*~

Legolas had just taken a sip of his coffee when Eomer burst into the office, in his hands a newspaper that he shoved right under Legolas’ nose.

“It just happened. The Forces…they’re done. Gondor, Ithilien and the Elves brought them down! It’s done! Look!”

Legolas followed suit, his coffee forgotten as he skimmed the front page of the newspaper that showed the humiliated Forces surrendering to what the newspapers and the rest of the world were calling the last Alliance of Men and Elves. He let out a slow breath, letting the news sink in before he looked up at a barely contained Eomer.

“I’m asking for leave. I need to find my sister.” Eomer burst out and it was then that Legolas noticed he wasn’t wearing his usual Border Officer jacket, but was clad instead in his leather jacket and was carrying a satchel.

Before Legolas could react to that bold statement, the bell announcing border arrivals rang, making Legolas and Eomer go immediately into their training and head downstairs.  When they got to the gate, Legolas felt his mouth fall open. Eomer himself swore as they took in the sight of the caravans that were patiently waiting for the gates to open and their papers to be processed.

“What the…” Eomer’s words were cut off when the doors to the first vehicle opened and two war-stained figures got out. One limped, but still carried himself with dignity, while the other had the fluid walk of all his people. Legolas felt himself go cold when he saw the second figure and nearly ignored Eomer’s harsh cry of relief at the third person that joined the first asylum seekers.

He waited until they got closer and he gasped in surprise when he saw Boromir Steward walking alongside a dark haired elf with a face that Legolas barely remembered from childhood. A woman with fair hair and a sooty face followed and it was she that Eomer had focused on. Legolas saw others: Faramir Steward, Elrohir, Elladan and even Estel, but he couldn’t keep his eyes off the first elf.

When he came to stand in front of him, Legolas could only gape as he was then grabbed and crushed into an embrace.

“Grandfather.”

Oropher laughed and ruffled Legolas’ hair.

“Hello grandson. It’s been too damned long.”

END.


End file.
